Pieces
by JMK758
Summary: Some time ago the team broke up a 'Chop Shop' dealing in dismembered corpses. Is it starting over again with new perpetrators, or is the truth far worse? Please Review!
1. Burns

This is my Seventeenth NCIS Mystery and the sixth of my Second Season. This series takes place roughly during the fifth season of the televised series, with liberties. The list of stories was getting so extensive I moved them, with synopses, to my profile.  
The first portion of "Have Yourself A Merry" took place a few days ago, the main body of that story still to come. We pick up this narrative two days after the end of "Autopsy Atrocities".  
The usual disclaimers apply. Please Review.  
Thank you to Zephyrfox for the inspiration for this story, and guidance along the way.  
Thank you to Ozgeek for the exposition of McGee's Rules. It's good when we can maintain FanFiction continuity.  
Rating: T or NCis-17. Death, Intrigue and Mystery.

Pieces  
By JMK758  
Chapter One  
Burns

Margaret tumbles through the open car door into the night, clambers to her feet and dashes across the intersection as she desperately tries to reach cover that's mercilessly distant. Too late she realizes she should have gone backward from the car to reach a row of trees, though it makes no difference. Though coatless, she doesn't feel the December cold; the chill in her blood is fear.

There's no traffic on the four-lane avenue this late in the night; she bites back a curse for she'd use it for cover if she could. There's no cover. She has no gun. She runs across the first lane, the second, hears a loud bang – painful impact in her back knocks her to the asphalt.

Margaret feels such agony she can't feel the injuries from the skidding fall. 'He shot me!' she thinks as she tries to crawl away.

Pain fills her world, she can't get up, her right arm won't move, but she reaches into her left pocket and pulls out her cell phone, deeply sorry not to have her gun. If she had it... She feels wet warmth spread over her back from the center of pain as she holds the 9 button down with her thumb.

"911 Operator, what is your emergency?"

"I've been _shot_!" she gasps, coughing a spray of blood onto the asphalt. It spatters on the phone.

"What is your location?"

She tries to pick her head up, to fight the pain, to focus on a street sign. There's one high up, far before her, barely lit well enough to make out. She hears the car stop behind her. She can't breathe, chokes on blood, coughs up another red spray.

"N Stree–" a loud bang drowns out her word and the impact slams into the middle of her back. She has no chance to scream her agony, but the pain is gone quickly. She never feels the third, fourth, fifth or sixth bullets.

x

"911 Operator; caller, are you there?" Martin Garbie hears the sound of a car withdrawing, then nothing. "Are you there?" He hears distant voices increase in clarity as they draw near.

"Did you see that?" a man's voice demands.

"Oh my God!" a woman cries, her high pitched voice sounds closer. "Is she dead?"

"Someone call 911!" another man's voice urges, this time closer still.

"911 operator," Garbie says, "can anyone hear me?"

"Do you hear that?" a new woman's voice calls.

Garbie repeats his call, a few seconds later hearing indeterminate sounds, followed by "Hello?"

"911 Operator," he says to the unknown man.

"There's a woman here in a Navy uniform. She's been shot. I think she's dead."

"What is your location?" Martin Garbie opens another communications line. Washington Emergency Regulations dictate any number of contacts depending upon the nature of the emergency; MPDC, Fire, EMS, FBI. There are also provisions for whenever one of the Uniformed Services is invoked.

xxx

Tony DiNozzo pauses on the way in from the kitchen, dish in hand, to turn on the CD player. The ethereal flutes accented by light percussions accent the air as he enters his living room and puts the plate down on the table before his companion. Horns and strings join the melody as she looks up at him, a smile on her lips.

"Oysters Rockefeller," Ziva David observes, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

"Only the best," Tony assures her.

"They are famous for enhancing the libido."

"Really? I hadn't heard," he assures her as he lingers beside her chair.

When Ziva had accepted Tony's dinner invitation she looked forward to whatever Tony would cook up. It is very clear he has more on the heat than dinner.

Of course, if he plays his chips right, he might be a winner.

"What else do you have?"

"Surprises," he assures her, bending close.

"I think I love surprises," she assures him. Her lips touch his.

x

The meal is delicious, all it had promised and at its end Tony decides to make his advance. His eyes communicate to the woman his intent, she does not demur.

Standing, he closes the distance, hands on the arms of her chair not quite confining her, but their touch is interrupted by the cell phone on his desk. "I don't believe it," he says, his lips a quarter inch from hers.

Across the room, in the pocket of her coat, her cell phone begins its summons. "I do."

"I'll get them."

"And have them think we are together? I do not think so."

His kiss is far shorter than he'd hoped before he pushes himself upright and crosses the room, snatching up the offending device.

xxx

By the time Tony and Ziva arrive in separate cars from different directions, the intersection of N Northwest and New Jersey Northwest is crowded with a mélange of vehicles. Neither of them wants to consider the unfairness of the post-shift summons, not with this much activity on the scene. Police cruisers are closest to the white shrouded body, NCIS official vehicles and agent's private cars form the outer perimeter.

The street is not only illuminated by halogen streetlights but accented by rotating and strobe lights of every hue and intensity. The cold is enough to limit the spectators, but Police keep those curious enough to brave the weather at bay while admitting only those authorized to be on the scene. Four people are sequestered on the sidewalk far to the right.

x

Dr. Donald Mallard crouches on the balls of his feet, regretting the need to switch his warm gloves for thin latex. He pulls back the white shroud just as Leroy Jethro Gibbs steps up beside him, asking his most frequent question;

"What've you got, Duck?"

"A craving for a medium rare steak which, thanks to a very inconveniently timed phone summons, had to be returned to the freezer."

"Sorry about that. I doubt she planned it that way."

"No, of course not, Jethro," he looks down at the right turned face of the dark haired woman. A spray of blood spreads beyond the top of her head, extends from thick smear into a mist which grows too diffuse to be seen in the irregular light. More blood is on her mouth and chin. "I dare say someone interrupted your dinner far worse than mine. Now we must determine who."

The woman wears an Ensign's uniform, the other distinguishing feature of the shoulder epaulets being the Oak Leaf insignia of the Navy Nurse Corps.

"What can you tell me?"

"Well, in temperature that hovers in the low 30's at best, I see no sign of a coat, gloves, hat nor scarf. She has 6 gunshot wounds to her back, none of which were inflicted at very close range or there would be visible GSR on her uniform. I am, of course, not ruling out microscopic traces I am certain Abby will have no difficulty in finding. In this temperature, body heat will diminish quickly due to ambient and contact temperature, but I shall endeavor to get you an estimate of the Time of Death."

"No need." Ducky lets his expression carry his question. "She was talking to 911 when she was shot, they have the whole thing taped." He checks his watch. "Twenty nine minutes ago. Emergency Services got the call at 2026 hours, the rest of the shots were fired seconds later."

x

Satisfied, Ducky continues his own report. "Judging by the visual evidence alone, which I must of course rely upon until proper photos are taken in addition to those taken by the Police, the first wound was below her right scapula, too far to the right to strike the heart. It bled quite profusely as you can see. The blood spatter upon the ground here," he indicates the expanding spray which spreads from above her head into invisibility, "and from her mouth indicates her lung had been punctured."

"Metro PD says she was holding her cell phone when she died, there's blood on it and one of the witnesses got some on his hand when he handled it."

"The second wound is here," Ducky continues, "quite a few inches below the level of her heart and there is limited bleeding from that wound. At this point I would conjecture it to be the cause of death. These other four, near and surrounding the heart, were inflicted post mortem. As you can see, there is relatively little bleeding from them. I would say what you have here around each wound is the result of oozing, her heart had already stopped pumping by the time they were inflicted. When I get her on my table in the morning I shall be able to give you a more accurate determination."

As if summoned by his words, the MCR truck threads its way between the other cars on the four lane road. Agents Braverman and Allyn get out of the cab.

"McGee, get the camera," Gibbs turns to Braverman, "There were four witnesses, you two take those two over there," he indicates the more distant man and woman. "DiNozzo, you're up." He leads the agents across the street, choosing for himself the man already identified to him by the police as the one who'd spoken to the 911 operator. "Paul Johnston?"

"That's me," the tall, blond haired man acknowledges.

Gibbs introduces himself, displays his IDs and leads the man a few feet to the left so they may speak without interruption. The other three witnesses are similarly scattered. "Tell me what you saw."

x

"We were back that way," Johnston indicates N street where it adjoins New Jersey, "just out for a Sunday stroll, walking and talking, you know, when this woman jumped out of the car at the light. She started running across the avenue."

"What kind of car?"

"I don't know. I don't know cars, maybe Harry will know," he glances to his friend, being interviewed by Allyn. "Anyway, she starts running across the street, didn't even look like she glanced for traffic, though there wasn't any I could see either. I noticed she wasn't wearing a coat or anything. I didn't know why she was running. I was just about to point her out to the others, I don't know what we could've done but I was going to suggest doing something when an arm comes out of the driver's window and 'pop', she goes down hard.

"She just passed the first lane, when we heard the shooting we ducked down behind a car. The car – I remember now, it was black – turns, it came between us and I couldn't see her anymore but before that she was alive. She tried to crawl, I remember, and she got her phone out of her pocket. I heard her coughing, talking, calling for help, then when the light changed the car came around the corner near her. I peeked up and I heard 'pow!' Then I heard 'pow – pow – pow – pow', just like that but I ducked down again, holding Cindy's head down to protect her, you know? Then the guy drove that way," he points up the street from the corner.

"You saw it was a man?"

"No, I'm just saying. I never saw him, you know? Just a head, and an arm sticking way out, from the back, then I ducked."

"But you say whoever it was waited for the light?"

"Yeah."

"Then after he shot her he drove off? Didn't speed?" The lack of speed assures there will be little forensic evidence from tire impressions.

"I guess he didn't want to attract attention. Me, I'd have shot out of there like a cannon if I just killed someone – not that I would ever kill anyone, you understand!"

"Yeah."

"I mean, he just drove away. Cindy, she and I came up first, seeing if there was anything we could'a done to help, but the woman, she wasn't moving. There was blood all over her. Then Jackie heard a voice from the phone and I picked it up, it was 911. There was blood all over the front of the phone, I got it on my hand." He shows Gibbs his latex covered hand, spots of blood visible through it.

"When we've tested your hand, tested the blood, you can wash." He doesn't mention now that the tests will be for gunshot residue.

"Harry lost it in those bushes, I was too busy calming Cindy and Jackie down to be sick."

"Uh huh."

x

A few minutes later the agents assemble to compare notes. DiNozzo's details from Cindy Beaumont confirm those Gibbs had received from Johnston. Special Agent Allyn reports the car as a black Corvette and that Harry Shinn remembers the first two letters of the license, 'B.L.', nothing else was clear in the moment he'd had.

S.A. Braverman's conversation with Jackie Marren was less fruitful: "She wasn't with them, she didn't see anything, doesn't know a thing. She claims she was at a movie down the street but she can't say where, she doesn't remember the title and just happened to run into her friends here after it let out and the woman was already dead."

Gibbs isn't particularly disturbed by this, the three stories they have provide enough for an initial picture, and perhaps Shinn can be helped to recall more of the plate. For now, Gibbs is interested in what the body may reveal.

x

McGee, holding the camera, turns to the others when they reach the taped perimeter. "Her ID says she's Ensign Margaret Burns." He consults his pad, muttering "Missed Rule 28."

"What does Rule 28 have to do with this?" That one is 'sometimes the spouse didn't do it' and they have no idea yet as to who was in the car.

Tim is horrified to realize he'd spoken aloud, his attention on the body rather than his report. "Sorry, sir, my rule 28; it's not exactly a rule, more of a guideline - that is set of guidelines. Tony had brought it up some time ago about each of us having rules just like you do. Mine aren't so much rules, as I'd said, more like -" he finally notices Gibbs expression and Tony's warning looks.

"You have your _own _set of rules, McGee?"

"Err, yes sir."

Gibbs smiles. "Good man."

McGee's quite pleased to have finally said something that pleases Gibbs.

"Well? What's Rule 28?"

"Er, 'the dead person is probably a petty officer'."

"Just missed it."

"What I said." But it's time to get back to work. "I've already contacted headquarters, Higgins and his team's working up a background on her."

"Pity they couldn't have taken the case," DiNozzo gripes.

"Afraid of a little work?"

Gibbs' jibe stings. "At nine on a Sunday night I wasn't looking forward to a new all-nighter."

"Dispatch gave it to us because we were done with Powers, you've been off since Friday." His tone warns DiNozzo continuing would be a bad idea. "Besides, you and Ziva had a good enough time on your date." At DiNozzo's forced innocent expression, he advises "you can't expect showing up from different directions to do any good if you both have the same meal on your breath."

x

When Gibbs strides across the wide street to where Ducky is working alone, the physician is examining the woman's body with the aid of high intensity lights set up from the MCR van. Ducky's solitude reminds him that someone's missing from his team and he turns to Ziva. "Where's Palmer?"

It is Ducky, back turned to them, who answers, "I've called him twice and have not received an answer."

"I was asking about _my_ Palmer, not yours, Ducky."

He looks back over his shoulder. "They are a set," he points out with a wry smile. "Still, you can hardly expect them. They just touched down today at Baltimore Washington, they are not due for work until tomorrow. Technically, they are still on their Honeymoon."

"Rule number five, Duck: Never be unreachable."

"That applies to your personnel, Jethro, not to mine."

Tonight seems to be the night for independent rules. "Which is it for you?"

"Number one."

x

Gibbs nods curtly to Ziva, not wanting to voice his order. As she pulls out her cell phone, he crouches down beside the Examiner.

Ensign Burns lays face down, her head turned to her right. Her jacket and shirt are only slightly raised, just enough to allow the insertion of a liver probe. Ducky uses a thin silver probe to test the wounds in her back. He's obliged for now to work with the slim probe through her clothing, not raising her blouse in order to preserve any GSR or other trace evidence that might be disturbed if he moved the cloth.

"The wound at her scapula," he points to the spot, "about a half inch below the shoulder blade, was made almost perpendicular to her body, perhaps as little as 85 degrees but the other five came in at a 35 to 40 degree angle." Gibbs looks past her feet; she had made it halfway across the third of four lanes. "Though these last four entered at the level of her heart, due to the angle it was this one," he points to the lowermost one on her jacket, the one with the secondary bleeding, "that actually pierced her heart.

"Perp shot her from the perimeter of the intersection, turned right and came up beside her, shot her five more times and then drove off that way."

"That is consistent with what I've found."

xx

It takes almost an hour more for the last of the police and agents to withdraw. Gibbs helps Ducky load the gurney into the M.E. van driven by Agent Susan Bourne of Fred Higgins' team. They are the last three on the scene.


	2. Surprises

Chapter Two  
Surprises

"Hi, everyone!" Michelle Palmer calls as she enters the bullpen, laden with shopping bags.

"Hey, Probette, welcome back!"

She hesitates, and admits to herself that she will never outlast the appellation. Instead she smiles at DiNozzo. "That's _Mrs_. Probette, if you please."

"You really want that name?"

She considers. "No."

DiNozzo decides, as she sets the bags down on the floor before his desk, that he owes her a wedding present so that'll be it.

Michelle steps in behind his desk and gives him a quick hug, then makes the round to McGee and across to David. "Where's Gibbs?" she asks as she turns from Ziva, finishing the question into her boss' tie.

"Right here."

"Sorry, sir," she is about to come up on her toes, but the look on his face makes her decide to just extend her hand. Nothing washes the smile from her lips, however. He surprises her by taking her into a brief hug.

"Welcome back. Now get to work."

"In a minute." She smiles up at him, barely able to keep from laughing, knowing the fate of anyone else who might dare to say that to him.

"How was Hawaii?" McGee asks in an effort to stave off the expected disaster.

"Fan_tas_tic!"

"Did you see much of it?" DiNozzo asks, his tone emphasizing his doubt. It was, after all, a honeymoon.

Her smile morphs into a smirk. "Enough."

x

She goes to the shopping bags set before DiNozzo's desk. "I return bearing presents." The first thing she pulls out is a handcrafted wooden box five inches tall, twenty four to a side. "I didn't wrap anything because I know how fast we leave on cases." She carries the box over to Gibbs. "On the Islands they make their own boats."

"Sounds like you'd fit in perfectly, boss," DiNozzo quips, earning only a low-level glare.

Undoing the leather tie, Gibbs raises the lid.

"This one boat maker I met makes his tools by hand."

Touched and pleased, Gibbs looks up from the impressive set. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Before he risks a crack in his armor Michelle returns to the bags, pulls out another box almost as large and turns to Ziva. "We found a Synagogue in one of the towns."

Ziva opens the carved box, finding a hand-made, dark brown, polished menorah and a collection of nine thin candles. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She turns. "Tim, it wasn't easy to find something hand-made on the islands for someone who's into computers but I finally managed it." When he opens the thin box he laughs in delight, pulling out an abacus whose 'beads' are seashells.

"This is wonderful."

"Oh, and when you see her, this is for Siobhan." From this box he draws a ten inch high polished brown cross, in the juncture of which are two interlinked circles.

"Very nice. I'm sure she'll like it. But what are the circles?"

"Abby told me that _Siobhan_ was the one who caught the bouquet; I was too busy to notice. They're not circles, they're _rings_. It's a wedding cross." She can barely keep from laughing delightedly as the color drops from his face.

"Thank you."

"And Tony, I can't have forgotten you." She bends over and pulls, from the bottom of a bag, a large silver stapler and presents it to him. "Made in Germany."

He laughs, accepting it from her. "Touché."

x

Months ago, during Gibbs' 'retirement', DiNozzo had gone to Germany for a conference and in selecting gifts had forgotten her. He'd attempted to cover his gaff by slipping a stapler off a desk to present to her.

"Actually, this is better." She hands him a thin box about a foot square. When he pulls it open and withdraws the block of wood his face falls in astonishment. "Like it?" she asks with a trace of apprehension.

"What is it?" McGee asks, unable to stand the suspense.

He turns it around, his voice choked to a whisper: "Magnum P.I. and Higgins, carved in front of his house." It takes him a few moments to regain his voice. "Thank you."

"_Michelle_!" an enthusiastic cry precedes the white lab coat clad woman who runs into the bullpen to hug her friend, unknowingly saving Tony.

"Abby! So good to see you! C'mere, I have a surprise for you." She tugs the taller woman over to the bags and retrieves a final box.

"Oh, you shouldn't have."

"Say that when you've seen it."

Abby opens it and pulls out a carved wooden mask, clearly the face of a woman. "Lovely." Abby flashes a smile at Michelle and turns her attention to the mask in her hands.

"You can see where it was just carved," Michelle points to the fresh markings in the wood. "That's Pele, goddess of women's passion, lust and the female orgasm."

"No she _isn't_! She's the goddess of volcanoes."

"Same thing."

When Abby tries it on, Gibbs decides this has gone on long enough. "What've you got, Abs?"

She pulls down the mask. "A major case of the hornies, but we can talk about that later."

"_Abby_!"

"Sorry, Gibbs, I've got nothing; I just came when I knew Jimmy and Michelle were back. Now I'll go back and wake up my babies from their morning nap."

"How did you know they were here?"

"My gut is so much better than yours - and sexier too."

x

"Ensign Margaret Burns," DiNozzo reports quickly, using the remote control to bring up the official photo and record of the woman, "has been assigned to Naval Amphibious Base Little Creek in Virginia Beach for the past year."

He wants to get the focus back on the investigation. It's clear to all that Abby is in a playful mood and that is occasionally devastating to anyone in range. The scientist withdraws discreetly after whispered words to Michelle, who collects the empty bags and heads for her desk.

"I found out who the car the witnesses saw is used by," Ziva tells them.

"Good work."

"No, bad. Black Corvette, Bravo Lima X-Ray 800 is leased to Margaret Burns."

"She got out of her _own_ car?"

"Without a coat or anything else," DiNozzo reminds them.

"Find out who else had access." Gibbs orders him. "I want the answer when we get back."

"On it, boss."

"What was her assignment?"

"Nurse in the Admiral Joel Boone Clinic for the past year."

Gibbs already has his drawer open, gathering his shield and Sig. "McGee, David, Palmer, with me."

Hurrying after them, Michelle catches McGee at the bullpen entrance, her hand on his arm turning him around. "Why are we seeing a nurse?"

xx

NAB Little Creek is beyond Norfolk, nearly two hundred miles from the Navy Yard along Highway 64. Tim, seated in the back seat with Michelle, has plenty of time to bring her up to date, not only on this but other cases she'd missed.

Nearly three hours later, at 10:05, when they reach the Joel Boone Medical Clinic on Nider Boulevard, Gibbs has additional orders. "David, Palmer, interview every Nurse, Corpsman, whoever you see. McGee, you and I will check out the official story."

x

Following posted directions, the men arrive at the office of the Chief Nurse. "I'm Betty Taylor," the Navy Captain greets them in the outer office. Four other men and women carry on their duties, formally oblivious to the conversation in the small room. To Gibbs it's too crowded.

"I'm afraid we have bad news, Captain."

Taylor recognizes he isn't going to say more in the public room. "Would you gentlemen come with me please?" She leads them into a smaller office in the rear. "Excuse the tight facilities, gentlemen, I rarely get visitors in here." She indicates the single chair opposite her own. "I can–"

"That all right," Gibbs assures her. He makes no move to take the seat so McGee certainly won't. They note a sign on the wall beyond the desk: 'If you want to swing a cat, go to Bethesda'.

"I'm sorry to tell you that one of your staff was shot and killed last night near Truxton Circle, Washington."

"Oh my God," Taylor can barely speak above a whisper and takes a moment to prepare herself. "Who?"

"Ensign Margaret Burns." He expects shock, a measure of grief or even denial, but not

"Who?"

"Ensign Margaret Burns," Gibbs repeats, surprised he has to.

There's sympathy in Taylor's eyes at the death, but "Sorry, Agent Gibbs, she's not a nurse at this base."

x

Gibbs glances at the equally surprised McGee, his message clear. As the man pulls out his PDA, Gibbs tries again. "Her DOD Records show she's been here for a year." He's never known Department of Defense personnel records to be wrong.

"Agent Gibbs, I have been here for _seven_ years, two as DCO. This isn't the Pentagon where you can get lost going down the hall. I have three Lieutenants to head up each shift, sixteen Ensigns as well as thirty Corpsmen and other staff. I don't have a Margaret or a Peggy _anything_."

By now McGee has the file open on his PDA, he hands it to her. Displayed on it is the official Navy ID of Ensign Burns, supplementary data on the screen lists her assignment as being in this building.

"No, definitely not."

"You're sure," Gibbs presses.

This time Taylor doesn't try to conceal her annoyance. First this man tells her one of her staff was shot, and then he insists a stranger works for her…. "Agent Gibbs, I'm _telling_ you that woman is _not_ in the NNC at this base. If Naval Records say she is, then I'll have to treat NR as a patient and recommend plenty of bed rest."

"Thank you for your time, Captain." He's wasted three hours on this trip – plus another three back – and has been made to look foolish. He doesn't like either.

"No problem. I hope you find her real posting."

"Oh, I _will_."

xx

In the corridor they find that Ziva and Michelle near the front Information circle. Both look perturbed; he doesn't have to wonder why.

"She is not here," Ziva reports when she obeys Gibbs' summons, so annoyed her tenses collide. "We spoke to nine nurses, seven orderlies, two doctors and the clerk at the reception station."

"No one recognizes her picture either," Michelle interjects when Ziva pauses for a breath, grateful DiNozzo isn't here to interject anything about a partridge in a pear tree.

"It is not like the Navy to screw with personnel."

"Screw up," Michelle corrects; "they screw _with_ them all the time."

"I would say McGee has his mind too much on a certain someone but even he I cannot see making such a colossal blunder."

"_Thank_ you, Zee," he says with no gratitude.

"Let's get out of here."

Hearing Gibbs' aggravation at the wasted morning in his tone, no one says a word.

x

When they reach the gate, they're obliged to wait while someone in the car ahead speaks to the Marine in the guardhouse. There's another Marine outside the station, who pulls his coat closer against the cold with too thinly gloved hands. Base regulations do not permit the thicker gloves while on Sentry duty, as they interfere with the handling of a weapon. McGee, playing a hunch, prepares his PDA and calls to him. "Sergeant?"

The man steps over to his window. "Yes?"

He extends the device to him. "Have you ever seen this woman?"

"Sure, that's Nurse Burns. She's in Boone Clinic over on Nider Boulevard."

"Wait, you _know_ her?" Gibbs demands, leaning over from behind the wheel so he can see the Sentry's face.

"Sure I know her," the man assures him, surprised at the fire in the driver's tone.

Gibbs straightens and drives the Charger out of the line onto the grass. All four Agents come back to the helpful though confused Marine. This time Gibbs leads with his shield and ID. "You _do_ know her and she works in Boone Clinic, Sergeant … Sizmore?"

"Yes, sir, I see her nearly every morning by oh eight."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Yesterday morning."

"She signs in?" They had.

"Everyone coming in here scans in, been that way for years. There are hundreds of people who live off-base. I would if I could afford it."

"I need to see her record."

"Not here. Base personnel just scan in on computer, the data goes up to Pass and ID," he rubs his hands in the unwelcome cold breeze.

"But you have no doubt about who she is?"

"You're on this post long enough, you know everyone on sight. She's here every morning like clockwork. Our schedules aren't the same but I see her Mondays through Wednesdays. My RDOs are Saturday and Sunday, never saw her on a Thursday or Friday."

"How do you recall this in particular?" A good memory is an asset, but this is a lot of detail.

"Well, sir, put it this way," giving a covert glance at the women, he drops his voice discreetly; "there's some women I especially look forward to seeing."

xx

In the Pass and ID section of the Security building, Gibbs looks forward to resolving this mystery. Thus far, too many things have gone wrong and he carefully contains both his impatience and annoyance, wondering which one will give out first.

It doesn't take long for them to reach Lt. Cmdr. Justin North. "Commander, we need to see the gate logs on one of your personnel." He gives him the information such as the Navy knows it.

"Pass records are printed out every midnight and filed in accord with the Captain's orders. The computer maintains the record, anyone who doesn't have an ID for this base has to show other ID, but the old man likes to have some things on paper."

They know the appellation has little to do with age, though the commander, Captain Lubioux, is not a young man. It is a deniable comment on North's opinion of the added paperwork; deniable since the words used had been properly deferential.

The agents had signed in on paper, their NCIS cards not having the barcodes that can be read by this base's system. This level of security, such as the use of Marines as guardsmen at the gate, alerted them that there might be something more to NAB Little Creek than they'd expected. Coupled with the mystery they face, it's enough to make each of them want to look more closely at the records.

"The only one we're interested in is one of your people," Gibbs tells North, not willing to tip his hand on any other suspicions. He wants only one mystery at a time, until he sees how this one fits into the other. "She was last seen in and out yesterday."

He leads them to a file cabinet in the outer office. "We keep up to five weeks of records here, then archive the previous month's. They're boxed, sent to holding, kept for two years."

"So how much do you have here?" Gibbs asks, expecting to be disappointed.

"Just December's, nearly three full weeks. Who are you looking for?"

It'll be a start, he'll check these and have the two months past shipped from storage if necessary. "Ensign Margaret Burns, NNC. Sergeant Sizmore said she's in like clockwork by oh-eight." He's already suspicious. If someone doesn't want to be noticed, the best way he knows is to have a routine and stick to it. Variations get noticed.

x

Each file folder is dated, North pulls out yesterday's. It contains about forty pages. He spreads the folder on the desk, quickly jumping to the mid-morning. "Here you are, M. Burns, logged in 0758, Boone Clinic, logged out 1627."

"Anyone check these?"

"For what?"

"To make sure she's who she says she is, that she's going where she says she is."

"I've got nine gate people on the main shift, five each on the others. The Sentries are responsible for confirming IDs before logging them, you have to show your ID card and it has to be valid and up to date. Routine personnel come and go every day, they're on the computer. We're concerned with confirming the visitors, hopefully not keeping some VIP cooling his heels for more than an hour because no one sent clearance in advance. We inspect the visitors, the usual go through electronically."

Gibbs has been an MP; he knows how the job gets. However, this degree of diligence is more than he's been expecting, even on a base which like all others has lived non-stop at Alert Level Orange ever since 2001. NAB-LC has an extensive R&D facility, are they working on something classified? Visions of Norfolk and the nightmare incident - still unresolved - involving the PDC Mark 9 come back to haunt him. The Photon Density Converter project had been designed to produce an utterly devastating weapon, one so secret that investigation into it had been squashed at the highest level. The Pentagon officers hadn't actually said that anyone looking into it would meet with a tragic fate - the implication had been so clear the words hadn't been needed. Gibbs hopes he isn't walking into another such case. Murder of a Naval officer is quite enough.

"We have to check all these files."

"They're yours. Need help?"

"We've got it."

x

Each of them takes nearly a week's worth, quickly establishing that Ensign Margaret Burns, assigned to the Joel Boone Clinic, scans in on time Saturdays through Wednesdays and each day is logged out by the computer between 1620 and 1630.

"Chief Nurse Taylor was telling the truth," Gibbs says, having no doubt about that. He'd watched the woman closely during their conversation; she doesn't know Margaret Burns. "Ziva, your BS meter is almost as good as mine–"

"Almost?" she asks with a half smirk, then confirms that "Those we spoke to were also telling the truth when they say they do not know her. That is too many people to maintain an effective conspiracy or deception. My impression is that they believe what they were saying."

"It sounds," Commander North says, "like I'm going to have a problem."

"Oh, a big one: Navy and DOD records have Ensign Margaret Burns assigned as a member of the Navy Nurse Corps in Boone Clinic for the past year. She signs in and out 'like clockwork'. The Chief Nurse and twenty doctors, nurses, corpsmen and other staff have never heard of her and have never seen her."

North surveys the stacks of log sheets upon the table. "Ohhh _crap_!"


	3. Hunt

Chapter Three  
Hunt

Gibbs returns Ziva and Michelle to the Boone Clinic, where their assigned and daunting task is interview everyone in the building, to determine if Burns is a complete unknown. Is there an elaborate deception in the works? Can someone be found who cannot maintain the deception - if any?

If it becomes necessary to bear down, they have carte blanche.

As Gibbs drives away from the clinic, McGee calls Headquarters to update DiNozzo. "DOD and Navy records have her here, the Clinic personnel say 'no', yet she's on the base five days a week."

/Sounds like something out of one of your books, Gemcity./

"I'm tempted, 'Tommy'. Gibbs wants you to break the tie. We're on our way to Base Personnel. Check Payroll and anything else you can find, we'll do the physical exam."

/Sounds like we should've traded places./

"Plenty of time for that."

/Just remember, Probalicious, if this does make a book, I get Lisa./

"I write fiction, not comedy," he closes the phone.

"You keep this up, you'll be splitting your royalties seven ways," Gibbs warns as he pulls into the Administration building's lot.

xx

"There are 14,400 persons assigned to this base, Agent Gibbs," Terry Arn says, not looking up from her desktop monitor. She is not in uniform; Gibbs takes her for a civilian. He doesn't care; the only thing she is to him is the least cooperative person in the room. "That doesn't include the 18 ships home ported here, the 35 landing craft and–"

"We're interested in only one, a nurse assigned to Boone Clinic."

"If that's where she's assigned, then…." Evidently she considers this enough of an answer.

Gibbs leans over the woman's desk, his hand flat on the middle of her desk, his face inches from hers. His voice holds none of his aggravation, but his eyes do. "I want all the records you have on Ensign Margaret Burns, including address, wage and earnings statements, records of her last Commands, schooling, certifications, everything."

If McGee could, he'd warn her that this tone is a very bad sign. Gibbs isn't dangerous when he's shouting; it's when he uses this tone of tightly enforced calm that reasons arise to be elsewhere.

"This is _highly_ irregular. You say she's dead, but I can't give you any of that without a NAVPERS Form NF–"

"Special Agent McGee."

"Err, yes, boss?"

"Take Ms. Arn into custody on charges of hindering a Murder Investigation; Article 118 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and read her her Article 31 Rights."

McGee steps in and pulls handcuffs from his back pocket, knowing he'll never have to use them.

"WAIT!" It's so easy, McGee decides, that it's not fun. "You can have them!"

When she calls the records up, McGee directs the feed to the IP address of his own computer.

As they return to the car, McGee ventures: "Boss, have you ever considered the difference between fishing and shooting them in a barrel?"

"I prefer ought-two buckshot."

xx

The base commander, Captain Samuel Lyons, was more responsive than many of his subordinates. He at least has instituted a number of security measures and a thorough investigation. He is even less pleased than the agents that this has happened under his command. With fire in his eyes, he'd assured them an answer will be forthcoming. Gibbs has his own doubts about how soon, or efficient, that will be.

On returning to Boone Clinic, they meet Ziva and Michelle at the curb. "We consulted every member of the staff and several patients as well," the taller woman reports, not bothering to conceal her frustration. "Margaret Burns is completely unknown to them."

"Where shall we go now, si– I mean, Special Agent Gibbs, sir?"

"Follow the trail. We have her home address now."

"It is my opinion that this base is haunted," Ziva declares, getting into the car.

"Haunted?" Michelle asks as she settles into the back seat with Ziva. This is more her field, but she mistrusts the woman's English. She couldn't have really meant 'haunted', for Michelle's confident that if it were haunted _she'd've _been the one to sense it, not Ziva.

"Damned right," Gibbs concurs, however. "We're dealing with a Spook."

xxx

It is nearly one in the afternoon when the team rendezvous with DiNozzo at an apartment in Wolfshare Plantation, a community south of the Amphibious Base and slightly north of Chesapeake. The five agents gather outside a third floor apartment. A television blares from inside, Gibbs hits the door hard enough to be heard over the noise.

"_MOM_!" a child's voice yells loudest of all, "SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!"

"I TOLD YOU TO LOWER THAT FUCKING THING! SOMEONE PROBABLY CALLED THE COPS!"

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," DiNozzo predicts sotto vocé.

When the television barrage is reduced to a tolerable level and three locks click off in the door, it opens to reveal a harried black woman in her mid-thirties. "Yes?"

It's clear she'd expected the police, so finding five men and women with white lettered hats and embroidered gold shields on their black coats is a variation she can adapt to. Gibbs displays his shield and ID.

"Shit, I'm _sorry_ about the noise. I expected the police, they didn't have to call the _Feds _on us."

"We're not here about the noise."

"Then you're the first ones who aren't. Why are you here?"

All five agents wonder about that as well. "Do you know a Naval Officer by the name of Margaret Burns?"

"No – but wait, yes. I mean I don't _know_ her, I never met her, but occasionally we get mail for her."  
"But she doesn't live here?"

"Hell, no. We've been here three years, my son and I."

"May I get your name, please?"

"Ruth Sealino. At first I thought it was a previous tenant but the landlord said 'no'. I used to turn the mail back, but more kept coming. Finally I just got disgusted and started tossing it. I figured she never came for any of it in all this time, I just started to chuck it."

"Well, if you get any more," Gibbs pulls out a business card, "please send it here."

"I will. You're welcome to it."

"Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon. Oh, and do something about the noise."

Walking down the stairs, DiNozzo turns to Gibbs, apprehension coloring his tone. "You're gonna ask us to canvas everybody in the whole neighborhood, aren't you?"

"Wasn't going to ask."

xxx

He doesn't send them either; there is too much to do to waste time walking the streets trailing a Spook. When they arrive at headquarters, he sends the others upstairs; McGee to inspect the computer records from the base, the others to track down other potential leads while he heads for Autopsy.

The body of the mysterious PO Burns lies prone upon the table, her back spread open. "What've you got?"

"A naked dead woman," Jimmy quips, earning a glare.

"You were on honeymoon for too long." But nothing breaks the young man's good humor and Gibbs, after nearly three weeks of Samantha Sky's perpetual delight, has had more than enough for one month.

"But he returned with something most interesting," Ducky assures his friend and glances across the room to a box set upon his desk. "It's a full set of native medical implements, what one might call the tools of the trade of a witch doctor. Witch doctor, of course, is a misnomer that persists in the popular mind; one would more properly speak of shamans. Shamans perform their healing through performing rites that expel pestilential spirits or by retrieving lost and stolen souls. Characteristically, they do this with the aid of helping spirits or gods invoked through incantations and rites.

"Practices such as these were known to the ancient Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans. In the Old Testament, the apocryphal book of Tobit contains an account in which, at the instruction of an angel, an evil spirit is expelled from a bridal chamber. Did you know that the first such implements as Mr. Palmer brought me were found by archeologists in the Kingdom of Hawaii in 1816 during the reign of Kamehameha the First on the island of –."

"I mean what have you got _now_?"

"Oh, a naked dead woman," he enjoys a moment of his impatient friend's pain before continuing, "who, as I indicated last night, was shot six times in the back."

Gibbs examines the body. "This is as far as you got?"

"I _do_ have other cases," Ducky reminds him with monumental patience. "For instance, delving into the cause of death and other clues that can be determined from the frozen and plastic wrapped woman's right arm that was found in Camp Pendleton and shipped here for analysis–"

"Burns!"

"Oh, there were no burns indicated; she was frozen, or at least her arm was."

"_Ducky_."

"Jethro, you really _must_ cultivate a sense of digression. It is very helpful for the blood pressure."

He holds up his hands. "Ducky, it's late, I've been at this for sixteen hours and I'm no closer than I was last night."

"Of course," he sobers and abandons any more jocularity. He is just tickled, after going through two temporary assistants in little more than a month, to have Jimmy Palmer back at his side. There is not enough that can be said for a working environment between two who understand one another's idiosyncrasies.

Of course, he'd had to give up being the tallest person in the room.

x

"Our Ensign was hit six times in the back, once at a range of apparently better than thirty feet at an almost horizontal angle, judging by the evidence from the scene, then five more times from a range of approximately five feet or less. The angle of these latter wounds upward through the body does support your theory that she was already laying face down upon the a phalt and the gun was quite low to the ground when the shots were fired."

He leads Gibbs over to the lighted wall panels upon which a series of illuminated x-ray exposures are displayed. "The initial impact struck her here, to the left side of the lower portion of the right scapula, where it penetrated the right lung at the Superior Lingual Bronchus. It impeded her breathing; I'm impressed by her discipline in that she was able to reach her phone and place as much of a call for help as she did."

"Was it fatal?"

"Not as such, no. That is, though she would possibly have drowned in her own blood, that would take time, and if she'd obtained medical aid she would have had a good chance of survival. No, the _fatal_ wound," he points to another spot near her diaphragm, "is this one. Though it is the lowest of the impact points the upward angle, due to her laying upon the asphalt and our perpetrator firing from a seated position, is such that it slipped between her eighth and ninth ribs and bisected the left Pulmonary Aorta. Loss of blood pressure was catastrophic. She'd have lost consciousness almost immediately and even had that been her only wound she would have died inside of twenty seconds."

"It doesn't look like he's experienced with a gun." Most of the wounds are clustered at the level of her heart, not accounting for angle or depth.

"No, of all the bullets we found and removed – they were .357 caliber by the way and definitely overkill for the number of times she was shot, they have all gone up to Abby by the way – only the one that impacted her heart and this one were particularly devastating."

He points to a spot in her spine several inches below her neck. "The other three missed or just skimmed vital organs, and even with all four she could possibly have survived had help reached her in time. But this one, well, it gives me cause to wonder if she would _want_ to have lived. It impacted between the seventh cervical and first thoracic vertebrae, destroying them at the juncture. The bullet and bone fragments together severed her spine quite beyond the limitations of modern medicine to repair with any certainty.

"While repairs would have been attempted had she survived, the bullet was diverted upon impact, traveled upward through the soft interior of the spinal column and destroyed all the nerves for a four inch span before it burst through the vertebrae and exited under her chin. She would certainly have spent the rest of her life as a quadriplegic; a fate I would not wish upon, well, upon the perpetrator of this atrocity."

x

"Paul Johnston saw the gun extended out the driver side window," Gibbs reminds him. "I'm not ready to say our perp's left handed."

"Nor am I. It does not take marksmanship to hit a stationary, prone body at nearly point blank range." In an effort to divorce himself from consideration of the assault, he asks: "Have you been able to determine anything about the young lady, or who killed her?" He turns from the pictures, steps back to the body lying on the table before Jimmy.

"We think she's a Spook. Any indications she's Black Ops?"

He considers the point. "As you know, Jethro, a Black Operative receives special training which results in distinct physiological indications of that training." He checks her upturned hands as though to confirm his conclusion. "I find no indications that she has been subjected to the grueling physical training or conditioning one would normally associate with such a specialized field. Basically, she has a Nurse's body."

"She's a mystery, Duck. According to about half the people at Little Creek she's real; the others say she's not."

"I assure you, Jethro," Ducky says gravely, looking up from the splayed open body, "regardless of whatever job she may or may not have held, the young lady is very real."


	4. Trial and Damnation

Chapter Four  
Trial and Damnation

Gibbs is on his way to the Forensics Lab when his cell phone rings. "Yeah, Gibbs."

/Palmer, sir," the woman's voice responds, perhaps more intently for she must know he's just left Palmer. Gibbs decides he really does have to try to get used to this. To this point, _one _Palmer had been enough. "I ran down Burns' Wage and Earnings, she's paid by automatic deposit to Toronto Dominion Bank - TD Bank. Her account shows her at the address we checked, but she elected to have all statements transmitted to her online banking profile. She doesn't get any mail from them./

"How does someone keep a bank account with a fake address?"

/It's not supposed to be possible. Everything is electronic but she needed a confirmed address./

"What's her access to her electronic thingy?"

/Sir, I can't get that, it'd take a–/

"Well, get one! You didn't spend that much time in Hawaii."

/Yes, sir./

Occasionally, he decides as he snaps the phone closed, his team needs a reminder about leaving a job half finished.

xx

When he walks through the clear doors into the Forensics lab, the rapid beeps that punctuate his arrival only serve to remind him how little he knows. As a Spook, Burns has been truly invisible. "Abs, talk to me."

She turns from a microscope, a broad smile on her lips. "Tony told me you have a great one, sort of a 'Twilight Zone' mystery, here and yet not here."

"It's not 'Twilight Zone', she's here and she's dead. Tell me _who_ she is."

"Working on it," she assures him and indicates the rapidly changing IAFIS screen. "I'm running every female perp there ever was."

"Why perps?"

"She's certainly not the most honest recruit. The Navy Database insists she's Ensign Margaret Burns, a member of the NNC for close to nine years. I traced her back to the day of her enlistment, and then I called her last Command at Manassas."

"Let me guess, she was never there."

"_Ta Da_! She's a Spook all right, and from what I've seen, or haven't seen actually, she's a really good one."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"She didn't make the Terror Alert List."

"That's a good thing."

"When I get a ping, you'll get a scream. Actually, since you always know when I find something, you'll just walk in."

"Don't count on it, give me the scream."

"Come over tonight and I will."

"In the meantime," he says, ignoring her smile and saucy tone, "tell me where she lives." He doesn't like the expression she gives him. "She was probably never at the address the Navy has on her. Payroll sends her salary to her bank account and they have the same address. I don't even know where to look for her."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

x

"Her uniform was pretty scraped up in front," Abby says as she leads Gibbs to the table where the tagged garments are arrayed in individual bags. "I'd say she was running away, got shot and skidded face forward."

"What've you got on the bullets?"

"I'm on number five of six." She steps over to the computer, upon which is displayed the image of a bullet. Visiting Abby is frequently akin to running a relay race. She manipulates the controls, the display shifts accordingly. The bullet being scanned is on the computer monitor and the plasma screen, Gibbs chooses the latter.

"It's in pretty good condition from going through mostly soft tissue. I found some fibers on several of them I matched up microscopically to her clothes. I also found a tiny wire fragment caught in the expansion fold of one bullet. Looks like it bulls-eyed her bra closure but I'm not jumping to any delusions until after lunch."

He checks his watch, remembering he hasn't had his own. If he waits much longer it'll be an early dinner. "Did you find anything that'll tell us who she was and what she was doing?"

"There was a Palm Pilot in her shirt pocket I'd love to pass along to McGee, I'm swamped with this and Kelman's case."

"Give it here." She recrosses the room to an evidence basket and withdraws a small white device in a plastic bag. This relay race, he thinks, is turning into a marathon; no wonder she stays so slim. He signs and dates the log at the top of the bag, pushes it into his pocket. "What do you have on Kelman's case?"

"This time she's got something as good as yours. Marine Lieutenant moved from Little Creek to Camp Pendleton. When the moving truck arrived and off-loaded, the daughter opened a crate in her bedroom," her tone, smile and eyes reflect how much she revels in this, "and right on top was a plastic wrapped woman's right arm."

She makes it sound _so _juicy she's disappointed when he tells her "I know."

"Oh," all the relish goes out of her tone.

"I attend the 0700 briefings."

"Oh. Well, there were no fingerprints, the last joint on each finger had been severed after death. Kelman, Larson and Templeton flew out to California to interview Lieutenant Effox and the family."

"I'd have brought them back here."

"I know, Gibbs, that's why your team never racks up any frequent flyer miles." She can see he is not amused. "She wanted to see everything in situ. NCIS Pendleton has the crates and is going over them for prints, fibers, the works. I'm having Bill Pratt keep me up to date."

"I'm surprised we got the arm."

"Dr. Freeman is down with the flu or we wouldn't have. He figured if he sent us the arm, Ducky would give him a hand."

Gibbs walks out.

xx

McGee takes advantage of Gibbs absence to grab a much needed lunch break and heads for the stairs rather than the elevator. Once the door to the stairwell is closed, he pulls out his cell phone. There are things, he reflects, that a man needs far more than food.

He only has to endure five rings. "Hi, Shav."

/Oh _hi_! I was just thinking about you./

"And I was thinking about you."

/Where are you?/

"On a break, and you?"

/At court./

"Court?" It takes him only an instant to put it together. "You mean the Morley case."

/We understood something might happen today. The Defense only had four witnesses. I can't say I feel sorry for them. Anyhow, they rested, it's in the hands of the jury now./

"How goes the Pageant? Now that you can afford it, that is?" He prefers to get her on a more pleasant subject if they only have a few minutes before Gibbs will look for him.

Over her protests last Tuesday, he'd made her accept a thousand dollar donation when he'd learned she was paying most of the expenses for Saint Mary the Virgin's early Christmas pageant out of her own pocket.

/Coming together nicely; it should be a grand evening. And thank you again! You're still coming, aren't you?/

"You couldn't keep me away."

/This morning I found out a couple of people are rehearsing songs from the 'Bells of Saint Mary's'./

"That was a good movie." He'd just seen the Bing Crosby / Ingrid Bergman film on TNT a few weeks ago, but wonders at her tone. She doesn't sound too happy about it.

/Well, when someone realized that _that_ Saint Mary's had an 'O'Malley' and this one has an 'O'Mallory', I was doomed./

He laughs. He'd made the same connection but hadn't intended to voice it. "You'll survive. Are you going to sing anything?"

There's a long pause he knows she's using for effect. /Come and see./

"Can't wait."

/Timmy, I –/ There's a long break.

"Shav?"

/I'm not sure but it looks like something's happening. I'd better go./

"You think the verdict's in already?"

/I'll let you know. Slán./

"Bye."

xx

Siobhan is surprised but gratified when word filters through the men and women in the gallery that the jury is returning. It's been about a half hour. She suspects they took a vote, then washed hands and stalled so it wouldn't look too fast.

Siobhan enters the courtroom with Father George Donaldson and they sit in the second set of seats with members of the Dumas and Night families, as well as Christa Alvarez's brother and other interested members of the parish. By the time they're in their seats and order has been established, the jury is ready.

"Madam Foreperson," Judge Wilson intones, "have you reached a unanimous verdict?"

"We have, your Honor."

"Present the verdict to the Bailiff, please."

The man brings the folded paper to the elevated bench. Judge Wilson unfolds, reads and folds it under his hand, then addresses the Defense. "The Defendant will rise to hear the verdict." It takes several slaps on the arm from Paul Morrow but Charlie Morley finally stands up. Wilson turns to the standing Forewoman.

"On the first count of Murder in the First Degree in the death of Christina Dumas, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant," she meets Morley's sullen, defiant eyes, her tone filled with satisfaction, "Guilty."

x

It takes several moments to contain the burst of emotion that flares through the room, but Wilson restores order.

"On the second count of Murder in the First Degree in the death of Christine Night, how do you find?"

The forewoman continues to stare at Morley.

"Guilty." The word reverberates in the otherwise silent chamber.

Siobhan, seated with the others in the gallery, feels the word slap her heart.

"On the charge of kidnapping…"

Thus it goes. Charges of kidnapping, of torture and assault, of rape; the same damning verdict repeated each time.

"Charles Morley, you have been found guilty on all charges against you, and so heinous are your crimes that if I could sentence you to death I would do so gladly. You have exhibited the most dastardly and depraved sadism in your sick, reprehensible crimes. For them it is the judgment of this court that you be taken to Federal Penitentiary Lee, there to serve two Consecutive Life sentences plus twenty five years in that maximum security facility without the possibility of parole. And may God have mercy on your soul."

The crack of the gavel is like thunder from the heavens.

x

Siobhan is gratified that it's over but Morley turns, locks eyes with her, stares at her.

A chill fills her. She gasps but cannot look away from those deadly eyes. She feels a hand close on hers but can't look away. Even as bailiffs pull Morley from behind the table and through the door their eyes never break.

Donaldson, seated next to her, sees the fear in her wide eyes, in her paling face. He rises and tugs her to her feet, pulls her to the door. Others follow; he cares only about getting the shaken woman out. When they're in the hall he steps around her; doesn't like the haunted look in her pale, sweating face. "Are you all right now?"

"Monster," she breathes. "Monster."

"He's gone now. He's finished."

"He should've _died_," a woman's bitter tones come from behind them. They turn and for the first time see several friends and parishioners.

"Death'll be too good for him," another woman declares, "but it's glorious that he'll die in jail."

"No," Siobhan surprises them all as she rallies, shakes off her fear as she turns on them. "There's no _glory_ in any of this. Three women are dead, his life is destroyed by his own hand, there's no glory in _any_ of it."

"Don't waste mercy on him, Mother."

She's about to reply, this hatred must be addressed, but Donaldson tugs at her arm. She turns to him.

"It's over."

"George–"

"It is _over_. It's time to start healing."

"You're right." Siobhan turns to the women, but there is fire in one woman's eyes.

"I don't _want _to heal."

xxx

After his own brief lunch, Gibbs stalks back into the bullpen and finds that Lee - _Palmer - _is very wisely absent. She'd _better _bring back some good news on that warrant for the bank records. "McGee, see what you can pull out of this thing." He hands over Burns' white PDA, McGee pulls on gloves from his desk drawer before he signs the log and breaks the seal.

"Calendar's pretty full," he reports by the time Gibbs seats himself. "I should be able to put quite a bit together, but it's all in the future. There's nothing before yesterday."

"Yesterday's what I care about. You can retrieve the rest later. What was she doing last night?"

He shrugs. "Dale at 8:30."

"Does Dale have a _last_ name?"

He switches to the Contact directory, takes so long Gibbs is about to remind him it's time to work. "I can't find one."

"Next time I ask, I want to know who was driving that car." His glare takes in the other three carefully attentive agents. "And it'll _help_ to know why she got out of her own car!"

He forces himself to pause, to rein in his impatience. Answers are coming; pressing for them won't speed the process, much as he'd like it to. "She's been in Little Creek for a year. If she wasn't at the Clinic, what was she doing?"

"Among fourteen and a half thousand people," Ziva observes, "pretty much anything she wants."

He's about to reprimand her but changes his mind. She's right. And if he has to, he'll send teams to talk to every man and women on the base until they find someone who saw her go someplace. Instead he redirects his attention back to McGee, knowing the lower drawer of the man's desk contains virtually every type of gizmo wire ever devised. "Plug that thing into your board, I'll help you look."

While he waits, Gibbs inspects the official record of Ensign Burns and looks for breaks, any clues as to what she was actually doing, and certainly anything on who killed her and why. "DiNozzo, that car, did it have a GPS?"

"The company reports she ordered it disabled."

"Why?" he's more interested in her stated reason, he can figure out the real one.

"She said she never goes anywhere she doesn't already know."

"Well, for someone who covers her tracks as well as she does," McGee announces, "she sure has a lot of appointments and even more friends. It's up now if you want to come in."

"Ziva, start from the end of the Contacts; DiNozzo, you take the upcoming Calendar. I'll look into her expenses. McGee, I want you to retrieve the past two deleted months."

Tim doesn't say a word.

x

After over an hour's silence, "Boss," McGee calls, "I found something."

"Spit it out."

"I've been hacking into her records, going all the way back to College."

"I _told_ you to work on that calendar!"

"I can do both. Now I thought her Medical School records were–"

"Bottom line, McGee."

"Yes, well, files entered into a computer system or modified include the date stamp for creation and modification. If you know how to do it, you can even uncover the dates and times of interim changes. By doing this and coordinating–"

"_Bottom_ bottom line."

"All the records back through High School were entered into the various data records on April 23 of last year."

x

"That begs a pretty big question," DiNozzo observes.

"Who was she before a year ago?"

"I can't tell you that," Michelle Palmer confesses as she walks into the bullpen, "but I can tell you about her bank account," she drapes her coat across her desk. "She's _rich_."

"How does someone get rich on a Nurse's salary?" DiNozzo cuts in.

"By making deposits for over a year of over $5,000 a month plus her Navy salary."

"Where'd the money–?"

"GIBBS! GIBBS! GIBBS! GIBBS!" the darkened plasma screen shouts in Abby's voice, making Tony nearly fall out of his seat.

"I _hate_ it when she does that!"

"I thought you'd get used to it after the last time," Gibbs admonishes, crosses the room, takes the remote and turns on the screen. They are treated to an overhead shot of the lab from the ceiling mounted camera, the woman staring excitedly up at them. "What've you got Abby?"

"Ice cream, cake, egg nog; it's Christmas! And you're going to _hate_ it!"

Only Abby could introduce so outrageous a contradiction and have it make sense. "Not for two weeks."

"Oh yeah? Come down here all of you and don't forget a present!"

xx

When the five agents arrive, the first thing they note is that the IAFIS screen is dark. "I've been running your mystery guest all day on Terror Alert, Al Qaeda Watch – all the usual places you check for the bad guys. It finally came to me. 'Abby,' I said, 'maybe you're going about this backwards.' I've been treating her as an enemy but she's _not_."

"So who is she?"

"Patience, Gibbs, don't you want to hear how I –?"

"_NOW_!"

"Okay," she gives in, subdued. "Like I said, you're really gonna _hate _this." She touches the power button on the monitor, the screen immediately brightens and Gibbs teaches all of them a new word.

On the screen is a familiar ID card and photo, but it's not from the Navy Nurse Corps.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Abby announces, "Ducky's guest is Special Agent Mary Narz, NCIS."


	5. Shocked

Chapter Five  
Shocked

"How could she be NCIS?" DiNozzo demands as he stares at the official ID of Special Agent Mary Narz.

"Under cover?" Ziva speculates.

"We've all used aliases on assignments; Abby's done loads of them for us, but she never deletes the real us-es." He doesn't flinch under the glances the others give him. "How far under cover do you have to be for them to rewrite your _history_?"

"Deep," Gibbs says ominously, "and long term." He turns to Abby. "How did you find out?"

"It wasn't easy; she's not _in_ our current records. But when I found that 'Margaret Burns' was _nowhere_ in our system, that was really hinky. It means NCIS never had any record of her, meaning she never had _any_ Navy connection so she was never vetted. I played a hunch and pulled the protected archives. Imagine my surprise," she points to the screen, "when _she_ popped up."

"When did she disappear?"

"April of last year."

"That checks with when her 'Margaret Burns' records started." McGee reminds them.

"You two," Gibbs takes in his two best scientists, "find out everything about her. Then I'll go to the Director."

"It would have been Director Morrow," Michelle points out, earning a 'tell-me-something-I-don't-know' glare. "I'm just saying Director Shepherd may not know all of Director Morrow's secrets."

"Then she can call him up and ask him."

x

When Gibbs meets with Shepherd, her reaction is exactly what he'd expected. "I don't like UC operations going on behind my back. Where was she stationed?"

Gibbs won't mention the most dramatic undercover operation she'd run lately with DiNozzo, one he'd only learned about after it was too late. "CFO, Pensacola."

Shepherd reaches out to her intercom. "Cynthia, get me Tom Mertz, the Agent-in-Charge of the Central Field Office in Florida." She sits back and takes a deep, calming breath that quite fails to do its job. "While we're waiting, fill me in."

The call comes back halfway through Gibbs' abbreviated tale. Shepherd activates the speakerphone.

"Special Agent Mertz, this is Director Shepherd."

/Good afternoon, Director. What may I do for you?/

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that Special Agent Mary Narz was killed here in Washington this morning."

/Who?/

Shepherd doesn't notice Gibbs' glare at the phone. He's beginning to hate this response continually associated with this woman, whatever name is being used.

Shepherd repeats the identification. "She's assigned to your command."

/Could you give me a moment?/ The voice is both vague and confused, and it takes considerably longer than a moment for it to continue. /Yes, I thought the name was familiar. We fired her ass out of here a year and a half ago. You should have gotten the full report./

She may well have, but it doesn't sound familiar. "Why?"

/She was suspected of conspiracy and in the sale of Navy secrets. We weren't able to get any _conclusive_ evidence but she did fail four successive polygraphs. We decided she simply couldn't be trusted. Even if she were exonerated, she could never function effectively as an Agent, so she was terminated.

/We kept on it after she was gone, turned out enough evidence _did_ surface that she was selling Military Secrets, but by then she'd dropped off the face of the Earth./

"Apparently she had help. Please send me everything you have on her right away."

/Will do, Director./

x

After the connection is broken, Shepherd asks, "Well, what do you think of that?"

"Better and better." He gets up and is part way through the door when Shepherd's cell phone rings. He pauses, his gut telling him this is a conversation he should overhear. Shepherd doesn't bother to correct the nosy man but brings the phone out.

"Dir–"

/Hey, Sexy babe, keeping warm for me?/

She scowls, the voice is familiar but the sentiment definitely is not. "Who i–?"

/Tommy boy, just calling to/ she stabs the speaker button /say I'm on my way out the door. I should be at your place by the time you get home from work. I'm _really_ looking forward to tonight./

She forces a smile into her tone, ignoring Gibbs' expression. Mertz's suave, intimate tones are vastly inappropriate, but she doesn't believe he's dialed a wrong number, he'd cut her off too quickly. "So am I … dear."

/Can't wait. You still got that red baby doll? You look so _hot_ in that. Talk to you soon. Bye./

Shepherd looks up at Gibbs as she presses the speaker button, barely able to wipe the astonishment from her face.

"You got something going on I don't know about?"

"Jethro, please. It's _obvious _that whatever's up he doesn't even trust it to a cell phone."

"Or on MTAC, or even in this building."

She looks at her watch, it's three forty five. "We'll find out at my house this evening. You're invited."

"I don't know, Jenny, ménage á trois really isn't my thing."

"_GET_ _OUT_!"

x

In the elevator, Gibbs halts the car to consider what Mertz could be so apprehensive about that he must fly up from Florida to discuss it in the Director's home. He also wants to decide if his team should be investigating Margaret Burns or Mary Narz.

Margaret Burns, definitely. This is who she is now; this is whom they have been investigating. If a SAIC feels it's so important to preserve secrecy that he must take these extraordinary measures, it's best to support his caution. If not for Abby's digging through the Protected Archives, they'd still be tracking Burns. Whatever Narz's cover was, it must still stand. Ensign Burns is their case until Mertz's revelations change that.

x

"Forget Mary Narz, she's a dead end," Gibbs' surprising command cuts through the bullpen. "Your subject is Ensign Margaret Burns. Narz was fired from NCIS over a year ago; I don't want anyone to use that name again outside this room. Clear?"

"Clear and muddy, boss." DiNozzo speaks for them all.

"Then let me make it a little clearer. Mary Narz is so deep UC the _President_ doesn't have clearance. Until we find out why, the woman on Ducky's slab is Navy Nurse Corps Ensign Margaret Burns. _Clear_?"

"Crystal."

He checks the clock on the wall. "Go home everyone, get some sleep. But stand by; you'll be called back tonight. Pensacola's SAIC is on his way up for a face-to-face with the Director.

"Palmer," he addresses the Asian woman at the desk beyond McGee's, "when we get back, if we're tracking Narz you're still on Burns. She had to live _somewhere_, and she had a car registered in her name. That means insurance, license, titles, all right up your alley. They can't have hidden her trail perfectly. Find me a flaw. Ziva–"

But McGee cuts him short. "Does anyone remember the woman on Highway 1 who went under the tractor trailer?"

Gibbs turns to him, displeased by the interruption - and the depth of the segue. "What are you talking about, McGee?"

McGee's attention is fixed on his monitor, not his annoyed boss. "I've been going over Burns' Palm Pilot and there's something really andóch."

Gibbs crosses the room to loom over the man's desk. "Andóch, McGee?"

"Sorry, I mean improbable. I–"

"You've been hanging around O'Mallory too much, Probino."

"Yes!" Ziva bites, her jealous pain still sharp. DiNozzo turns to her, wondering why she cares about the Probster anymore. He's dating the Israeli officer now, she should care about _him_!

"What _is _it, McGee?" Gibbs demands, not wanting this to erode further; he's tired and had looked forward to a brief nap upstairs, one he's now sure he'll lose.

"The woman who was killed on the highway, the one who fell or was pushed out of a blue van under the wheels of a tractor trailer–"

"What woman? _What_ tractor trailer?"

"It was in the news just before we got the call to investigate the 'Pimmy Jalmer' murders."

"Cynthia Devlin," Ziva announces, "and her report is in three issues of the Washington Sun." They can see she is calling up the records.

"A good memory comes in handy, Probie. You should develop one."

"There was no ID on the van," McGee continues, ignoring DiNozzo. "The only witness was the driver of the eighteen wheel rig that ran over her. He described the van as 'blue'."

"That's it?" DiNozzo demands. He'd expect there would be more by _now_. Even if NCIS wasn't working the case, he considers Metro Police to be almost competent.

"Perhaps it has something to do with his standing on his brake at the time," Ziva cuts in.

DiNozzo decides to ignore her tone. "Why, Probie?"

"I thought I recognized it, I heard bits and pieces of the story about the accident."

"And _why_ would you recognize it?" Gibbs demands, patience exhausted. "What the _hell_ does this have to do with Burns _or_ Narz?"

Tim looks infinitely satisfied. "Because her name is in Ensign Burns' Contact list. That is, if she's the Cynthia Devlin from 3110 Swann St." He directs this last to Ziva, who consults the news archive and nods a few moments later.

"Throw that article on the plasma screen," Gibbs commands. When she does so, it presents a woman's face and three short columns of text. Gibbs and DiNozzo step closer so they may read the report - a few moments later Tim McGee insinuates himself between them, nudges them aside to stare at the woman.

x

"McGee?" Gibbs is surprised, the younger man is normally not rude. Maybe he's finally learning.

"I know her." McGee continues staring at the image, not breaking his gaze.

"From where?"

"I don't know. But I know her."

"_Where_?"

The demand breaks him out of his fugue. "Boss, this is something you can't solve by force. I don't know why I know her, I just know her."

"Well it's no coincidence her contact info is in Burns' files. Find out what their connection is," he turns to DiNozzo, "and _why _she died."

"On it, boss," DiNozzo snaps, mentally kissing that early return home goodbye. He neither knows nor cares that Gibbs had held the same hope; he's too tired to care about anyone else. "Come on, Probie, Probette, let's go see what Metro has on the grill."

As they gather their supplies, Gibbs turns to Ziva. "Pull everything from all the news services on that 'accident'."

x

As the three agents leave the bullpen DiNozzo, in the middle, says, "I'll bet you'll be shocked when you find out who she is."

McGee's hands fly outward to block their paths, "_Shocked_!" Unfortunately for DiNozzo the back of McGee's open hand catches him in the gut. McGee hurries back to the bullpen so quickly he doesn't even notice the man doubled over behind him.

Tim passes Gibbs at the entrance, exclaiming "_Shocked_!" as he continues to his desk.

Tony clutches his stomach with one hand, the partition with the other, muttering "he'll be shocked when I plug his memory stick into a socket."

"I think I'm too virginal to hear about that, Special Agent DiNozzo," Michelle says as she tries to steady DiNozzo while wondering just how much worse the situation is going to get - and if she'll have to assist Gibbs in refereeing as she guides Tony back to the bullpen.

Fortunately Gibbs is standing in front of McGee's desk, barely containing his impatience as the man types rapidly.

"Boss, you remember that stakeout two years ago, when Petty Officer Jerry Smith's wife shot him on the road? But at the base another man, John Kirby, was impersonating him and they were both playing mule for a transport scheme? It was only a couple of weeks after Zee joined us. Remember we never did find out who or why Smith and Kirby were being used as couriers?"

"Of _course_ I remember! I don't like it when one of _our_ cases goes cold."

McGee hits one final control and another image on the plasma screen pushes aside the newspaper article, leaving only the woman's face visible.

In the stakeout picture shot with a stationary camera, Tim is wearing an unflattering blue Hawaiian shirt. The woman speaking to him is Caucasian, her black hair partially pulled back in a pony tail, her red sweater and blue blouse far more comely than McGee's borrowed attire. She carries a backpack over her right shoulder and, unknown to him at that moment, a powerful stun gun which she'd used on him to escape the attempted bust.

Apparently she hadn't escaped someone else.

"Well, we finally have a name," DiNozzo says.

"Cynthia Devlin," Gibbs says. He'd wanted her on ice, but not this way. "Two women dead in two weeks, one of them a Spook, the other a mule but both tied together how? DiNozzo, you and Ziva track Devlin; McGee, you and Palmer concentrate on Burns, find out what more they have in common besides an address book." He takes a step away, then turns. "Later. Go to sleep. Expect my call."


	6. Nails in the Coffin

Chapter Six  
Nails in the Coffin

In the Study of Jennifer Shepherd's townhouse she and Gibbs sip drinks as they await their fellow agent. "This case," she declares, "has too many cloaks and far too many daggers already."

"I have a feeling," he muses, raising his glass, "we're going to have a lot more daggers before we're done."

The doorbell summons their attention, though Shepherd makes no move to leave her chair, and neither does Gibbs. While he may be outranked one level by the visitor, he's on home turf. Let Mertz be met by a united front.

The study door opens and a small, uniformed woman sticks her head in. "Excuse me, Madam," she says in a sharp Hispanic accent, "there is an Agent Thomas Mertz here, he says he has an appointment."

"Show him in, Rosita."

x

When the door is closed behind him the tall blond man discovers that the winter chill hasn't been left at the outer door.

"Good evening, 'Tommy boy'."

He tries not to blush. "I'm sorry, Director, I was quite a bit out of line."

"Quite a distance, Special Agent."

"I'm really sorry, but I couldn't take a chance that even our cell phones weren't compromised."

Shepherd sits still, reserving judgment on if the man was being prudent or over-reactive. "Have a seat, Special Agent Mertz."

x

"Before I begin," he says, settling into a chair, "is there any chance it's _not_ Mary Narz?" Gibbs hands him one of the photos taken before the autopsy had begun. "_Shit_."

Shepherd is satisfied. "Tell us what happened."

Gibbs decides the man to his right can benefit from assistance Shepherd doesn't want to offer. He crosses to the bar and returns with a glass of brandy, which he hands to Mertz. He knows how he'd feel were they discussing one of his people.

"Early last year we learned of the possible theft of Navy secrets." Shepherd nearly cuts him off but holds her peace. "Data was disappearing from Pensacola, secrets being compromised. We developed a plan, and Mary Narz volunteered to make it happen."

"_Why _wasn't I informed?" There is a record of Narz being fired, but the truth seems to have gotten lost on its way north.

"Begging your pardon, Director, I do have a good reason."

"Very well, proceed." She'll contain her impatience - for a moment, but the reason had better be an excellent one.

x

"As I said, Director, we needed a way to find out what was happening in Florida. Agent Narz took point. Twenty months ago evidence was uncovered, read created, that implicated her in the theft those secrets. She was 'investigated', failed several polygraph tests but there wasn't enough physical evidence - obviously - upon which to arrest her. She was forced out of NCIS and things took the course I described earlier.

"It took time; we leaked her termination, Narz in turn was not silent about her feelings about having been wrongfully dismissed. She became increasingly disaffected. Part of that had to do with her Unemployment having been denied. Her financial situation steadily deteriorated, she in turn became increasingly bitter about the treatment accorded her."

He raises a cautioning hand, lest they think Pensacola entirely without mercy. "Naturally we didn't entirely cut her off; money for essentials was filtered to her but we had to make it look like she was barely scraping by.

"Not long after that she got word to us through a 'dead drop' that she'd been contacted by someone who wanted her to steal more secrets. She played the part of a disaffected former agent who, if she had the name, might as well take the money. Not long after that, Mary Narz ceased to exist.

"We learned that whoever had contacted her had managed to completely erase her identity and history."

They've had experience with people who can do this; their special talents do not come cheaply.

"Since last April, twenty-one months now, her reports have been sporadic and cautious. She indicated she couldn't risk revealing everything she knew yet. I didn't like that, but I was overruled by the SECNAV. He was the one who had originally alerted us to the possibility of the thefts of secrets, the one who approved the whole operation."

"The SECNAV." She doesn't try to hide her doubt. This entire story is outrageous. Even if it were begun under Director Morrow's administration, she should have been informed long ago - not _two years_ after the fact.

"The SECNAV. And the details were so sensitive that they couldn't be revealed until more evidence could be uncovered. The cell she was attached to in Little Creek operated on a 'need to know' basis. In her last report to me two months ago she still didn't know who the prime movers were."

"And why am I finding out now?" Outraged, she has already decided that the command structure of southeast NCIS needs to be reviewed.

"Because the SECNAV personally put me under a gag order. From the beginning of the operation, anything I learned was to be communicated to him personally; not to my command, not to you. I'm sorry, Director, but those orders were issued by the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

Shepherd is too stunned to be angry. She'd known too many instances of high handed political maneuvering since taking this office but this exceeds her worst anticipations. "Does the SECNAV know she's dead?"

"Wasn't part of the deal. I never liked being put in the middle between you two. But though Narz knew there were risks, I'll be damned if a 'gag order' will keep me quiet now."

Too little, too late. "What was the last thing she told you?"

"Her last report to _me_ was two months ago, as I said. From that point on, all reports were classified 'Eyes Only' by the SECNAV personally. But something was happening in Little Creek and it was escalating. She thought things were coming to a head and didn't like having her reports rerouted. It was hard enough getting word out safely, the orders for my people to keep Headquarters out of the loop complicated things immensely. I'm ashamed to admit I've had three agents working up here for nearly a year and couldn't tell you."

"We'll discuss that later, Agent Mertz, before _I_ go to the SECNAV." She has just heard the final nail being hammered into this man's coffin.

x

"I do have one firm piece of Intel. She had a contact in the cell, Cynthia Devlin. She was passing the information she got to Devlin, and Devlin was reported the other day to have been killed on Highway One in Maryland."

"Cynthia Devlin," Gibbs tells him, "was involved in a covert scheme over a year ago but that case went cold." He won't tell him how the method used by bomb squad to get into the case retrieved from Devlin was to blow it up. He turns to Shepherd. "Looking back on it now, I wonder if the bomb squad was as incompetent as they'd seemed."

"That case contained secrets on this operation?"

"You tell me," Gibbs says ominously.

"Well, I don't really have to, do I?"

x

"If Devlin is connected to this case as part of her previous operation," Shepherd tells the man she already considers the former SAIC of Pensacola, "then it predates your information. What do you know about her?"

Mertz pulls a CD from his pocket, passes it to Shepherd who in turn hands it to Gibbs. "Stated briefly, Devlin was an operative working as a civilian Food Services employee inside Little Creek. She passed the materials on to the ones in charge. We knew this, but she was very good; she either knew or suspected she was under surveillance, so she varied her routine irregularly and we never managed to find the top."

"No one's that good," Gibbs maintains. "Everyone make mistakes." Devlin had, however, managed to escape his team, and had covered her tracks so well the trail had finally grown cold.

He keeps to himself his thoughts on the fact that there'd been a 'foreign' team covertly working the case in Washington. This is for Shepherd to comment on.

x

Despite Abby's skills, there's a limit even to what the talented scientist can accomplish, and in time other more pressing cases had sent the reconstruction of the destroyed mystery case to the bottom of the priority list. With no further clues forthcoming, there it had remained.

"We never got any information that could definitively lead us further," Mertz contends. Gibbs, taking a clue from Shepherd, doesn't push about Mertz having come to them. He can see in Shepherd's eyes that a decision has been reached, and it comes as no surprise.

x

"And you say all reports went to the SECNAV? Not an Aide?"

"To him personally. I'd brief him on MTAC until he took personal control, then once in a while he'd brief me the same way. I told him I felt it was improper to keep you out of the loop, he told me he personally keeps you thoroughly informed on the entire operation.

"I never believed him, but it's pretty hard to go over his head. Until Devlin was killed I had to follow orders. Now, with Mary Narz gone–"

"With Narz dead it's too little too late," she tells him, allowing only a hint of her anger to show through. "I should have been contacted; I'd have told you whether or not I was in the loop. I want everything there is on this operation as well as on Narz since she was vetted on my desk within twelve hours."

To Gibbs the conclusion of this issue is clear, even as Shepherd sends Mertz back to Florida on the first available transport. If the handling of this case is an indication of the man's judgment, Mertz's days as SAIC aren't numbered, they're finished.


	7. Effox

Chapter Seven  
Effox

If any of the agents are surprised to awaken in the morning to find they had not received the threatened late night summons, they're wise enough not to tempt fate.

When they're assembled in the bullpen, Gibbs brings them up to date on the case and Florida's contribution, or rather the lack of it.

"DiNozzo."

"Working on Devlin alive, boss."

"Compiling what we know of her death," Ziva reports.

"I'm on the fictitious Burns," McGee says.

"Should be right up your alley, Gemcity," Gibbs says, turning to Palmer.

"I'm still working on Narz, up to the point where she disappeared. Maybe she wasn't completely erased. If she kept a vestige of her old life–"

"Less talk, more work. When you four have everything there is on them, start working on how they link together." He's out of his chair, heading for the exit.

"Where can we reach you, Boss?" DiNozzo calls.

"Autopsy."

xx

"I need you to get some records from Metro," Gibbs says as Ducky, by his desk, empties his pockets into a drawer, preparatory to changing for work. "Last week a woman was thrown or fell out of a van on Highway 1 in Maryland. Her name is Cynthia -" Ducky hands him a file folder "- Devlin."

"Good morning, Jethro," Ducky reminds him pointedly, not really expecting a reply in kind. "Yes, Anthony alerted me last evening that you'd want it. I had Dr. DeForte fax me over a copy."

"What was the Cause of Death?"

"About what you would expect from being run over by nine sets of tires bearing a collective 10,000 pound load at 65 miles an hour. The driver did apply his brakes, but by the time the truck stopped it was already past her. There was catastrophic damage, 76 percent of her body was crushed."

"Did the ME run a tox screen?"

"Oh Jethro, when someone comes in in that condition, the ME is hardly likely to look for toxicity of any kind."

"You would."

"Well, yes, I would at that," he admits with a smile, "but I'm the exception. NCIS investigates accidents - and suicides - as murder so I am compelled to take the extra step. Any other ME, having 15 to 20 bodies to examine, is going to take a look at that crushed body and pronounce her as having been killed by the truck.

"The only reasons this case remains in the open file are the rather dramatic circumstances of the incident and unaccounted bruising on her upper arms which seem to indicate hands tight about her arms."

Gibbs can't believe this. "And you couldn't tell me that first?"

"Ah, but then I would lose the opportunity to defend the good name of the Forensic Pathology profession."

"I've never given you a 'wake up call'."

"A very wise choice with someone who spends so much of his time surrounded by sharp objects."

They are interrupted by a chortle from across the room, both having quite forgotten about Palmer.

x

"Yes, well, the report does indicate subdural bruising on her upper arms. Now contrary to popular myth, bruising does continue to develop after death. Therefore, what was not apparent at the time the body was examined at the scene was very evident by the time it was autopsied. Metro PD theorizes she was forcibly restrained, then hurled from the van when it was in the optimal position."

"Ducky, do you think Abby might be able to find anything? Like a fingerprint, for instance?"

"I truly couldn't say. It would depend upon how long she was restrained and numerous other factors. I suggest you ask Abby."

"Oh, I will. In the meantime, we need to get an order to exhume the body. What can you tell me about Burns?"

x

"She is something of a mystery. I obtained her medical profile because there were certain things in her autopsy that were unusual, but even those do not compare with the inconsistencies in her records."

"Such as?"

"Such as being comprehensive in the important things but lacking in the minutia. Operations, serious problems are documented, minor things are not. I then checked with her physician of record and, lo and behold, she doesn't have one, at least not a registered physician."

"That's because there is no 'Margaret Burns'."

"I figured that out last evening. Do you know who the young lady actually is?"

"NCIS Special Agent Mary Narz, out of Pensacola."

"Oh dear."

"Right. Jenny's furious, Pen was running an Under Op right in our back yard, 'Eyes Only' to the SECNAV."

"I take it this would not be a good time to put in for a vacation."

"You've too much to do. How long will it take to do an autopsy on Devlin?"

"It would be very useful to know what I was looking for."

"The last time we came across her she was running secret deliveries and outrunning us. Did she manage to get anything that could identify her killers, something Metro missed?"

"I shall endeavor to find out." He doesn't want to tell Gibbs just how long it will be - assuming the body _can _be exhumed today.

"Ducky, I want you to release Narz's body to the Mortician under the name Burns. NCIS will make the arrangements for the funeral. Can you have it ready today?"

Ducky and Jimmy stare at him, unable to believe they just heard this.

xxx

"Abby..."

The woman immediately raises a hand. "Take a number, Gibbs."

"Number 1."

She contains a sigh. He is, after all, her favorite. "Works for me, I guess. What can I do about you?"

When he reaches her he sees she has a woman's right arm on the table before her.

"I was going to ask if you need a hand, but since you've already got three..."

"Very funny." Her smile implies it's not entirely sarcasm.

The plastic that had wrapped the arm from severed shoulder to hand lies spread about it. "Any idea who she is yet?"

"I'm _dedicating _myself to finding out. I have a _crap_load of fingerprints all over the plastic, can't tell you half of the players yet. I can tell you the tox screen came back positive – for curare."

This is a surprise. The exotic poison was frequently used by South American tribesmen, but he'd never heard of a modern use of it. "Careful when you tell Ducky, he'll be good for five minutes."

"Tell me about it. But since he isn't here, he missed his chance, so I'll do two minutes. You get it from drying the vine Strychnos toxifera. I'll spare you the formulas,"

"Thanks."

"but from those vines you get curine which paralyzes the muscle fibers. Does terrible things to the heart. You also get curarine, which paralyzes the motor nerve endings, most susceptible are the lungs. It'll paralyze your whole body, but it's the effects on those organs that kill you. It actually won't hurt if you swallow it, but inject it and your heart and lungs just stop.

"It was the perps' bad luck and our good that she was injected in _this _arm."

"I love the stupid ones."

"Don't we all. Now the cute thing is that synthetic curare has been available since WW2, but it'll contain chemical markers."

"Why curare?"

"You mean aside from it being exotic? It's one of the few truly effective poisons that can be made with virtually no technology. If you knew the formula, you could make it on however much of your boat there is now."

"Almost done."

"Ready for Christmas?"

He shrugs. "Maybe."

"Can I have a ride?"

"Maiden voyage." He looks pointedly at the arm. "What did they use to cut it off?"

"I'd say, like Ducky before me, that it was surgically amputated."

"Any chance this could be left over from the last batch?" Cdr. James Ross had dismembered a multitude of already deceased corpses, and one man not previously deceased, in a body sale scheme. Bad luck for him and his fellows about the head in a cooler.

"Doubt it. If you'd asked Ducky _that_, he'd've told you this dissector is right handed."

"I could bounce back and forth between you two all morning."

"Gibbs-pong. I like it." His expression tells her she's the only one.

x

"What've you got on _my _case?"

"What would you like?"

"A few answers would be nice."

"Okay." She rewraps the arm, sealing the plastic and putting it back in an Evidence bag, then into the cooler. "Just wish I had more time to devote to this."

"Answers are coming," he assus her when she comes back to the table. "Lieutenant Effox is flying back from Pendleton this morning; she should be in within the hour along with Kelman and her team. They'll touch down at Reagan." He doesn't say she should have been summoned the first time rather than the team going to Pendleton. Not his case, though he'd overruled Kelman and ordered the summons.

"Now, what about Devlin and Burns/Narz?"

"You know, Gibbs, this has been a great week, the best pair of mysteries I've had in–"

"Abby."

"I've got nothing."

"Abby."

"Come _on_, Gibbs, even a Goth's gotha get her rest. I gave you the ID, then I had to have my beauty sleep. You don't think magnificence like this comes from–"

"All right, when?"

"Give me a few hours, okay?"

xxx

A few hours are what he must give. Everyone is loaded with duties and to lean will accomplish nothing but to slow things down. He continues his own search, supplementing his teammates until his phone rings.

Lieutenant Kay Effox has been brought in through the main gate by Kenneth Templeton, her ID to be verified before she can be admitted, even under NCIS escort. Gibbs doesn't want another incident of false identity, the one they have is quite enough. Melanie Kelman and Patrick Larsen had come ahead and await Templeton and his charge in the Conference room. The separation on this occasion had been intentional, at Gibbs direction. He wants a few minutes with the team before Effox's arrival.

When Gibbs reaches the Conference room the looks Kelman and Larsen give him convey their unvoiced opinion of his unilateral move on their case. It's only his rank that prevents a discussion from beginning - for now.

"What can you tell me about this case that wasn't in your report?"

"Sir, our reports are comprehensive, sir." Kelman's voice is polite, casual and offers nothing; certainly her respectful tone doesn't reveal her feelings about his question or its implications. She is an SSA fairly recently promoted; this is her third case since recovering from a murderous attack by a traitorous agent, he has no cause to question her like a first-day probie.

x

Gibbs can well understand her concern at his decision to take action in bringing them and a principle witness back across the country. Normally he wouldn't give a damn; it's the case that's important, but he doesn't want to undermine the woman in front of her team - any more than he has to. They'll discuss her performance later.

The door opens behind him; Kenneth Templeton escorts the uniformed Lt. Effox into the room. She removes her white cover, her manner one of as much restrained annoyance as Kelman's. "First Lieutenant Kay Z. Effox reporting as ordered."

"Welcome, Lieutenant," Gibbs says an instant before Kelman, cutting her off. He doesn't notice her glare, or the looks Templeton and Larsen give him on their chief's behalf.

"Thank you. Why the hell am I here?"

"To tell us your story," Gibbs replies directly, holding his primacy. "Take a seat, Lieutenant."

He can see she doesn't want to accept his offer of a seat, but she does, setting her cover upon the table.

"What do you want to know?"

"From the top."

"As I've told the Pendleton agents and your team," she glances at Kelman, Templeton and Larsen, "I was transferred from Little Creek to Camp Pendleton, we left last Wednesday but we'd shipped our furniture out the day before. We flew to Pendleton, were berthed overnight on the base in available quarters and then opened our new home on base a few hours before the truck arrived the following afternoon. We started unpacking, and my daughter Naomi found an insulated black bag in one of her crates, a bag that she hadn't packed with the rest of her stuff. She opened it and found that damned arm."

"What did you do?"

"By the time we calmed her down the MPs had already arrived. Our neighbors called them. MPs and your West Field Office agents took statements, pictures and the crate and bag. I've flown back and forth across the country three times and have been answering questions about it ever since."

Gibbs can see where that could be stressful. He's read the reports of the West Coast agents and will try not to belabor them, but he isn't satisfied by them either.

"What did you do in Little Creek?"

"I was in R&D."

"What was your area of research?"

"I'm sorry, sir, that's Classified. You'll have to ask Captain Lubioux."

"Oh, I intend to. I understand you didn't live on the base."

"No sir, we had a house leased not far from Little Creek. What's that got to do with this?"

"Because, Lieutenant, yours isn't the only unusual incident that's happened in Little Creek this week and I'm not a man who believes in coincidences. Do you know an NNC Ensign Margaret Burns?"

She considers for a moment. "No. Why?"

"How about a woman by the name of Cynthia Devlin?"

Effox is surprised. "Now her I do know."

'Score another for the gut.' "How?"

"She works in Little Creek, in Food Services. I don't know a lot about her but she has a house not far from us. Greg told her we were shipping out. We had a few people over for a going away dinner party and Greg invited her to come."

"So she went to your home? When was that?"

"About two days before we shipped out."

"That'd be the evening before your truck left?"

"Yes." She looks at Kelman. "I gave you people a list of everyone at the party."

Melanie Kelman is suddenly at his side. "Agent Gibbs, may I speak to you outside?"

xx

As the door closes, Kelman whirls on Gibbs, her voice low and tight. "Why am I hearing the name Devlin _now_?"

"She's on your list?"

"_Damn it yes she's on our list_! Along with fourteen other people we're looking into in Little Creek. If I'd known she was on _your_ list we could have both saved a hell of a lot of time!"

"It wasn't until now that I realized there might be a connection."

"We could've discussed this. Instead of your coming in there asking what I know that I didn't report, you should have told me what _you _know that _you_ didn't report!

"Damn it, Gibbs, we're supposed to be on the same side! I took three bullets for you; that should've bought me some consideration. I know I don't have the years that you do, I was made SSA over my own protests because of my memory and the wild talent of lightning calculation but I can't do my job if I don't have _information_!

"Plus the fact that you cut me out twice in front of my team. I would never do that to you and I don't know of any man or woman in NCIS, Shepherd included, that you would tolerate that from!""

"You done?"

She looks like she could find more to say but "Yeah, I guess that says it all."

"Good. I apologize."

x

She blinks up at him, quite surprised. One of the abiding truths known to everyone who works in Headquarters Division is that "Leroy Jethro Gibbs never apologizes."

"Oh, I do. On occasion. But I have to be really wrong for it to happen and this time I am. I should've given you the same respect I demand." When Martine Joswig had been murdered, Shepherd had made Kelman the S.S.A. in her place. It had been a controversial decision, though all the controversy had been outside her team. To his knowledge, no feathers had been ruffled within it, and he doubts he'll find out if there had been. "You may have been with us only a year but you're a Supervisor too and I should've brought you into the loop when I realized there were two weird things happening in Little Creek. I'm sorry."

It takes her a moment even after the end of this surprising admission to force down the last of her anger. "Okay. Apology accepted. Now, shall we see what more Effox has to tell us, then read our teams into each other's loops?"

xxx

When Gibbs, Kelman, Templeton and Larsen enter the bullpen downstairs in Operations, they have some surprises for their four counterparts. "Cynthia Devlin was a guest at a party at the home of Lieutenant Effox and her family before they shipped out to Fort Pendleton," Gibbs tells them. "It looks like Devlin was the one who put that arm into the daughter's things the evening before the truck left. A few days later someone shot her up with curare and tossed her under a truck. Have you worked out Devlin's connection to Burns?"

"I've worked out one thing," DiNozzo announces.

"What?"

"We've been working the wrong case."


	8. Into the Loops

Chapter Eight  
Into the Loops

The summons to MTAC is unusual for the number of agents collected therein, but it is the most efficient place in which to gather all the evidence for compilation between two teams. Director Shepherd stands off to the side, an observer rather than participant. It's Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Melanie Kelman who are front and center before their teams; Ducky and Abby are seated among them.

"First Lieutenant Kay Effox, assigned to Little Creek R&D, was recently transferred to Camp Pendleton, California." Gibbs tells them. "What she did in R&D is classified, we'll be getting that information through Project Administrator Captain Lubioux, as soon as possible. What's important is that Effox and her family packed all their belongings from a leased house near Little Creek. There was a farewell party last Monday evening and Cynthia Devlin, who worked in Food Serviced, was a guest. We need to know how she had access and what else she was doing there."

"I am running into the same brickwalling we got about Burns," Ziva gripes. "She was under the radar, no one really noticed her."

"Wish I had that talent," DiNozzo quips.

"I thought you perfected it, DiNozzo."

"Ouch, boss."

"The truck bearing Effox's belongings," Gibbs resumes the briefing, "left for the west coast at 0900 hours on Tuesday. The family spent the night at an airport hotel and left on Wednesday at 1430 on a commercial flight. On that same day, just before we started out for the Sollecito home in Petworth, to investigate the Pimmy Jalmer murders, someone injected Cynthia Devlin with curare and threw her in front of a tractor trailer on Highway 1 in Maryland." He notices both Ducky's and Michelle's expressions at the reference to Jalmer; but there's no time now for discomforted feelings.

"When the truck arrived in Pendleton on Thursday and was unpacked, an arm was found in a freezer bag in Naomi Effox's belongings," Gibbs continues.

"We know that Cynthia Devlin and Special Agent Mary Narz of Pensacola, Florida, who operated on a deep under cover assignment out of Little Creek under the guise of Navy Nurse Corps Ensign Margaret Burns, knew one another. Their names were in each other's palm pilots. Devlin knew Narz as 'Burns'.

"Special Agent Narz's mission is classified 'Eyes Only' to the SECNAV. We're getting the reports from Pensacola, so far as they were presented before the SECNAV classed them as 'Top Secret'. We can take it at this point that we _won't_ get them from him, so we're on our own. Whatever she was doing was so classified her identity was erased. We believe this was done by the people she was investigating, those she _apparently _defected to.

"Her cover required her reputation to be blackened. She was 'convicted' in absencia of stealing military secrets after she was fired from NCIS. Shortly thereafter, she disappeared - presumably before she could be apprehended and charged - and then her NCIS history was deleted by the ones we're looking for. It was only Abby's persistence that disclosed her real identity from protected archives. They contain her _actual _history; she was a good Agent despite what the computers show."

x

"It appears," Gibbs continues after allowing the emotional content of this to sink in, "but has yet to be proven, that she was contacted by the same people who were running secret military information. Two years ago we barely managed a lead on them but whose case went cold. We believe – but have yet to prove – that they were the ones who erased Mary Narz, created Margaret Burns and installed her at Little Creek.

"On Sunday night, four days after Devlin was killed in Maryland, Mary Narz was shot in the back on N Street Northwest and New Jersey Northwest. She had gotten out of her own car which was being driven by her assailant. Eyewitness testimony implies there was a dispute; we don't know that yet. The car's GPS had been deactivated to support her Undercover operation. We still have no idea who was driving the car. Abby."

"Gibbs."

"Your top priority is IDing that arm. We have to know who she is. DiNozzo."

"No soap on the van. I have only a short description on the van from the truck driver: it was blue. He was– "

"I know, standing on the brake."

"I'm checking the exits in that direction, but Highway 1 covers a lot of territory. I could backtrack to try to see where they might have gotten on but I'd be looking for a blue van."

"Forget it."

"Forgot it."

x

"McGee, any luck with Burns' car?"

"It's an annual lease, has over four months left. Last payment was three weeks ago, paid by check, the check traces to a bank, bank traces to the apartment where the Sealinos live. Dead end," he finishes unnecessarily.

"Can the company turn the GPS back on?"

"I already asked; they tried. It must have been manually disconnected."

Frustrating as it is, he can't fault Narz. He'd expect no less efficiency from an Agent so deep Undercover. For a moment he flashes back to the last time they had to second guess the actions of an agent with their own training. Bob DiMarco's knowledge of the inner operations of NCIS had worked against them that time. Now….

"No agent, however deep UC, is going to cut herself off completely. She was reporting when possible for the SECNAV's eyes but she was trained to cover herself with a backup. We need to find that backup."

"It's one thing," Shepherd interrupts, "to search openly for the killer of Margaret Burns. If we start trying to backtrack Mary Narz we're going to alert whoever killed her."

Gibbs won't ask openly if she'd had any success with the SECNAV; that's not something to be discussed aloud. Thus far, only they two know what secrets have been kept from the Director, and by whom.

"Abby?"

"I've been running Narz's clothing, or Burns' uniform depending on how you want to look at it. I'm still researching the traces of dirt and other detritus on her shoes, what Ducky found of her last meal, what was found under her fingernails, her blood–"

Shepherd turns to her. "Suffice it to say you need more time."

"Suffice it to say. I can tell you her dinner consisted of steak, starches – probably potato – some mixed greens and wine. I'm trying to track enough to give you an educated guess about what restaurant it might be."

"Why restaurant?"

"I found a lot of exotic spices."

"I cook with exotic spices," DiNozzo objects, risking a glance at Ziva.

"Maybe, but not many have your refined tastes," Abby counters.

Her tone leaves just enough question about her definition of refined. Still, he'll take the words for the compliment.

"What I'm saying," she concludes, "is that she might have been on a date at a restaurant or at someone's house."

"Ducky, how long before she died do you think she might have had her last meal?"

"Certainly less than an hour."

"Templeton," Kelman calls, "keep with Abby. As soon as she can narrow down a good guess, check every matching restaurant backtracked along that car's route. Bisect an arc, you take North; Larson, you have South."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Lee," Gibbs orders, then, "_Palmer_, did you get that warrant for the bank records?"

"Not yet, sir. I've been–"

"You have an hour."

"Yes, sir."

"Special Agent Kelman,"

"Yes, Director?"

"When she gets them, you're the best one to analyze them. You know what to look for."

"Yes, Director."

x

"When Jerry Smith and John Kirby ran secrets with Devlin," Shepherd addresses Gibbs, "how cold did the case go?"

"Ice. Abby?"

'For an ice cold case,' she thinks, 'this is a pretty hot seat.' "Sorry, Gibbs, we never did succeed in putting that blown-to-smithereens case back together again. Between what the bomb squad did to the outside and the bomb from the inside, there was nothing discernable. If I could have had a clue of what was supposed to have been in there, or if I had a spare decade–"

"Okay, we get the point." Too many cases have come and gone, the destroyed case went further and further to the back of the shelf. Suddenly it's high priority agand.

He turns to McGee. "What do we have on Devlin?"

"About as much reliable information as we have on Burns. Her history is as fragmented as hers, and they had a lot more time to do her."

"The Eraser," DiNozzo expounds, "1996, Arnold Schwarzenegger, James Caan, Vanessa Williams, written by Tony Puryear and Walon Green, directed by Chuck Russell–"

Shepherd, closer to DiNozzo than is Gibbs, smacks the back of his head, the reprimand all the more effective for its surprise.

"Thank you." He's far from grateful, it is one thing for Gibbs to do it but he cannot call her on it. "My point is they had someone very good erasing pasts and creating futures. Everything about her is buried."

Gibbs starts to turn to Shepherd but then turns back. "Where was she buried?"

"Uh," he tugs his palm pilot from his pocket.

"Oak Hill cemetery," Kelman announces. All eyes turn to her. "It was mentioned in her obituary last week."

"Let's hear it for a photographic memory," DiNozzo quips.

"Eidetic actually."

"There's a difference," Abby assures him.

"_Can we focus, people_?"

"Sorry, Director."

x

"Ziva, you track down where Devlin is, what church did the service–"

"She was buried out of Saint Mary the Virgin on New York Avenue Northwest," Kelman reports.

Gibbs isn't surprised, that would have been in the same obituary. The choice is convenient; finally some good news, however minute. "All right, McGee, it's yours. I want to know who was there, who made the arrangements, who the mourners were, the whole cartload. Ziva, you have Burns. She's being waked, I think."

"Yes," Ducky confirms. "I turned over the body to John Petzer Funeral Parlor yesterday." His tone makes clear feelings that he won't express at the irregularity of this.

"I think I'd better be on that," Kelman says, "I can remember everyone at that parlor."

"That you can. All right, you and Ziva. But take some equipment anyway, I want to see who's there too."

x

When the agents have dispersed to follow their particular assignments, Shepherd signals Gibbs to remain. He doesn't have to ask why. "Stand over there, I don't want you to be seen."

"Afraid I'm not photogenic enough?" But he doesn't hesitate to obey her direction and takes a position to the left of the large screen out of the camera's view. From there he can watch on one of the redundancy screens near the Operating Technicians.

"SECNAV's office acknowledges our signal, Director."

"Bring him on line."

xxx

The sun has long set when Tim McGee enters the huge Gothic church through the Avenue foyer that joins St. Mary's to its social gathering place, styled Hamilton Hall. When he opens the church door slightly, he sees Rev. George Donaldson is conducting Evening Prayer two hundred feet distant. There are seven people in the pews which can easily accommodate a thousand.

Turning to the hall, he offers a silent apology for bypassing the Service and walks the length of the huge room and through the door to the office corridor. Ellen Meyers, coat half closed, looks to the door as it opens. Though the office entrance is through the corridor to the left, an open window faces the Hall door and it's clear she hadn't expected anyone at nearly six o'clock.

"I'm sorry, there's - Oh, Agent McGee, I didn't recognize you. I'm sorry, she's not–"

"Actually I'm here to see you." Her evident surprise at the unexpected visit is deepened when he tells her through the open window: "I'm here on official NCIS business, I need some information."

"What sort of information?" In the times he'd been here before, rare as they are, he'd been courteous to her but he'd always come seeking Mother O'Mallory.

"There was a funeral here last week, for a Miss Cynthia Devlin?"

"Oh yes. She'd been in an auto accident."

"Yes." That's a benign way to put it.

"Oh, well, come in." He steps around into the corridor so they no longer need to speak through the small window. Meyers leaves her coat on, though unbuttoned, a silent reminder that she'd been on her way out. "What do you need to know?"

"Well, everything actually. This is in connection with a case NCIS is investigating."

"I don't understand." His expression gives her her answer. "I guess I don't need to understand."

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay, I've lived in Washington all my life."

x

"Is there a file on the funeral?"

"Err, yes there is. But I can't just give it to you, not without permission, but I guess you'd just come back with a warrant."

He hadn't really planned to, but if she wants to conclude that then he won't disillusion her. Then again, she might conclude that he'd get the file anyway due to his connection with 'Mother O'Mallory' and he won't contradict her on that either.

x

"I can tell you what I can, though," she indicates the chair under the hall window behind him, slips off her coat and drapes it over the back of her chair.

When he's seated, he sees a sign prominently displayed on the wall behind Meyers' desk. 'Warning, this Ministry is Protected by an Attack Secretary.' He wonders how accurate it is.

"What do you nee–?" the door to the hall opens again behind him, "Hello, Mother!" There's definite relief in her voice; Tim hears the woman come around the corner, "how is Mrs. Angelinti?"

"About as well as might be expec– Timmy?" she halts, her white coat half unbuttoned but still bearing the winter chill.

"Hi, Shav."

"Wha - what are you doing here?" Her tone conveys what she won't say, 'we don't have a date tonight'.

"I'm here on NCIS business."

"What could NCIS have to do with us?" The question is only half in jest.

"He's asking about the funeral last week for Cynthia Devlin," Meyers tells her, happy to give it up. Let the Priest decide what private information will be shared.  
"Oh - well - if all you're interested in here is work, _Agent McGee_, come to the office."

She leads him down the corridor to the office on the left that she shares with Father Donaldson, not allowing him to see her smile. She continues to her desk facing the door from the far wall, opens the door beside it and puts away her coat. When she turns, coat no longer obscuring the pale blue shirt and encircling stiff white collar, she sees he's closed the door.

"Door open, Timmy; you _know _better."

"Sorry, what I have to tell you is confidential," he leaves the door, comes to her.

"Canon Law supersedes NCIS Law." She moves to step around him. "Opposite sexes in the room, the door stays _op!_" He's caught her hand, tugs and spins her around, catches her on his lips.

She doesn't rush to push him away, her arms about his neck, but when she does move him it's with a jab to his ribs. "That's _why _the law is there, to protect both our reputations as well as to protect me from ravaging maniacs like you."

"A little late." But he releases her and she opens the door wide to find Reverend George Donaldson on its other side.

"_Mother_," he addresses her in the severest of tones, noting the man past her, "have you forgotten the rules?"

x

"It wasn't – I mean I–"

"We have rules for a reason, Mother O'Mallory," he tells her severely as he enters, pitching his voice so it doesn't carry out of the room. "I would think you would have enough discretion than to carry on your affairs off Church property."

"George, it's nothing like that!" She can feel her hot face turn a deeper shade than her fiery hair. "I explained the rules to Timmy but he–!"

"Blaming your shortsightedness on another is beneath you, Mother O'Mallory."

"She _has _been slipping in her piety lately," McGee agrees.

She turns on him, shocked. "_Timmy_, how could–!"

"I've spoken to you about your behavior before, Mother. I'd hoped you would've improved."

"George, I - _Wait a minute_, you never spoke to me about any such thing!"

"No, I didn't, did I?" he agrees with a smile. When she turns, McGee is grinning even more broadly.

"Touché."

"That is _NOT _funny!"

"Actually it is," Donaldson assures her as he heads for his desk. "You're quick with the joke, just wanted to know if you can take as good as you give. Actually I heard every word through the door, so I know you're innocent."

"_Thank _you."

"_This _time." But before she can answer, he turns to McGee. "I understand you need some files?" To McGee's own surprise, he says "I overheard while I was changing in the Sacristy. Why do you need them?" He takes his seat. Siobhan takes her place behind her own desk, not sure whether she's annoyed or not; McGee stands roughly between then where he can speak to both without turning his back on either.

"All I can tell you is that she seems to be involved in a crime we're investigating."

"You're not investigating her murder?"

"Not directly, but that plays a part in our investigation. We're interested in who she might have known and what she did while she was alive."

"Well, since she's dead and buried, her sins, whatever they might be, absolved post mortem, I would hope that she be allowed to rest in peace."

"Father, we have no wish to dishonor anyone but we must have those records and the answers to some questions."

"I know. I also know I can't stop you from taking them, either tonight or when you come back with a warrant. I can only pray for your discretion."

x

"Did you know her well?"

"Unfortunately, no. If she made the Major Feasts of the Church she was one of many such that visit us. I knew her more as a name on our Outreach records."

Tim glances at Siobhan, who nods.

"How were the arrangements for the funeral made? Did she leave advance instructions?" With her history, he considers it a wise idea. Most of the Agents he has spoken to have made such provisions; he has a sealed envelope in his own church as well as in NCIS.

"No, the arrangements were made by a friend, who left her cell phone number and covered all the expenses."

"A good friend. I'd very much like to talk to her."

"That information's in the file too. I might as well get it."

He doesn't have far to go, Ellen Meyers stands outside the door with it. "Thank you. Have a good night."

"Good night, Father. Mother. Agent McGee."

McGee wishes some NCIS Agents had her efficiency, or else Gibbs-like prescience.

Donaldson brings the folder back into the room, opens it as he walks to the desk.

"Her name was Pat, I think." Siobhan tells him. She never thought she'd ever have to remember it. "Pat something,"

"No," Donaldson counters, "it was Peg. Peg Burns."

McGee hopes his spiking pulse isn't apparent to the Priests.


	9. Name Rank and Serial Number

Chapter Nine  
Name, Rank and Serial Number

When Ziva and Kelman, unaware of McGee's discovery of their subject's connection to last week's funeral, enter the John Petzer Funeral Home, they pause in the hallway between two Chapels. A is empty, there are nineteen people in B. The wrong name is on the sign by the door.

"This is wrong." Ziva's voice is low but intense. "Those people in there are responding to a lie. They believe they are here to say their goodbyes to Margaret Burns but there _is _no Margaret Burns!" Her restrained voice has the intensity of a yell.

"We can't do anything about that," the younger Supervisor replies. "Our job is to see who comes to this wake."

"It is _wrong_! Narz has a sister, a brother, they have families. She has a mother still in Florida."

"What would you have us do?" Kelman asks, keeping her voice hushed. She wants to be understanding, but she can't see a way out of this. She's trying to be sympathetic to her fellow agent as well, but her patience with the fiery woman is wearing thin.

"They do not know she is dead. We cannot tell them. They should be here. _NCIS _should be here!"

"NCIS is here."

"Two Agents! There should be two hundred! She deserves the respect of her–"

Kelman steps right in front of her, her own quiet intensity searing the six inches between them. "She gave her life to see that an important mission succeeds and we owe her the respect of not _fucking it up_! Now if you can do your job, do it! If you can't, tell me now, get the hell out of here and have them send me an agent that can!"

For a long moment it seems angry words may turn physical, then Ziva takes a step back. Kelman also does so, at least figuratively. "Look, it doesn't take two of us in there right away. Survey the area; see what the situation is outside."

Ziva nods sharply and heads for the front door, opens it herself before the man stationed there can reach for the handle. They had just come in, she knows the conditions outside. But in giving the direction, Kelman had not told her to go out into the winter night and cool off. Neither woman needed it said.

x

Ziva stands on the porch that overlooks the parking lot enclosed by a low brick wall and watches the slow play of her steaming breath in the still night. Thirty seconds later she's back in the corridor and enters Chapel B. On the left side of the room Melanie Kelman is leaving the coffin, evidently having completed her prayers. Ziva intercepts the woman several feet from the nearest mourner, keeps her voice low. "Black Corvette, Bravo Lima X-Ray 800."

Kelman's eyes search each of the men and women in the room. "Incredible."

xx

"Now we really do need that file," McGee assures the priests in the Church office after Father Donaldson's revelation. He'd been sent to accumulate information on Cynthia Devlin's funeral; he'd never expected to learn that NCIS Special Agent Mary Narz, in her undercover persona of Margaret Burns, had paid for it. "I also need you to tell me everything you can about Peg Burns."

"Actually," Donaldson tells him as he sits down at his desk, "I just did. She paid for the funeral, asked us to make all the usual arrangements and announcements. My impression was that she didn't have much of an idea how much detail goes into the planning. However, between us and Labyorteaux Funeral Home we put together a wake and Service. She attended all the days, made the payments but I can't tell you much more about her. I knew her for three days, never met her before nor saw her after. I suspect you know far more about her than we do." Siobhan adds her silent nod to this.

Tim pulls a photo from his pocket, this step required. "Is this the woman?"

"Yes."

"Timmy, what aren't you telling us?" Siobhan asks, knowing him well enough to know he's withholding the very best parts of the story.

"Everything. Sorry, Shav, this is need-to-know only; no exception even for NCIS' Chaplain."

She smiles confidently. "I'll work it out of you."

He can tell she won't make good on this threat, but though his look says 'not this time', before he can put it into words his cell phone rings.

His sudden sharp attention a moment later brings the others to their feet. He doesn't try to contain himself. "I'll be right there!" He slaps the phone closed as Siobhan comes around from behind her desk.

"Timmy, what's happened?"

"You're a charm, Shav! Things go right when you're around." He startles her by grabbing her arms and kissing her enthusiastically, is gone a second later.

Donaldson turns to her after this outrageous departure. "Is he always like that?"

Siobhan has only just regained her balance, physically as much as emotionally. She touches her lips, the kiss still seemingly upon them. "I sincerely hope not."

xxx

There are 7 agents in cars in the parking lot or hidden on either side of the building, all watching the lot about the erstwhile 'Margaret Burns' car. Gibbs' team, as well as Kenneth Templeton and Patrick Larsen, hold strategic positions where they can intercept the suspect on foot or block his exit via car. Ziva expressed the feelings of most of them: "Our perpetrator has concrete testicles to drive his victim's car to her own wake." It only makes the apprehension to come far more emotionally urgent.

Melanie Kelman remains inside the Funeral Parlor, a surreptitious observer of those who remain as the hour passes 9:30. Traditionally, 'viewings' end by 10:00.

Gibbs' car idles near the exit, parallel to the low brick wall. The opening is only wider than a car about to turn onto the right traffic street, not much bigger than the space Gibbs intends to take up. The other five agents are scattered in the shadows of the lot and at either edge of the building.

People leave in intermittent singles and pairs, some angling close to but never approaching the target. As the number of cars steadily diminishes, anticipation mounts.

"Wish he'd come out already," DiNozzo mutters over the private radio channel; he stands at the left corner of the building, "it's freaking' freezing out here."

"Go in and tell him," Gibbs advises.

"I would if I knew what he looked like."

"You will," Larsen says quietly into their ears from his position in the far right corner of the parking lot. "Bogie at 7:00."

Two men and two women have emerged. One of them, a tall sandy haired man, separates from the others and heads directly for the Corvette. Kelman follows, her appearance indicating no other visitor remains in the parlor.

"Finally!"

"Wait for it," Gibbs advises. He wants their target in the Corvette and committed. The man and woman accompany him; go on to the car parked beside the target car. When the man gets in the Corvette and starts the engine Gibbs directs: "Move in."

The black car's lights come on; it pulls away from the space and angles toward the gate. Gibbs moves his car smoothly across the opening.

x

Immediately the Corvette is surrounded, the aims of 8 guns converge from various ranges upon the driver. DiNozzo, closest to the door, pulls it open, grabs the man by the back collar and hauls him into the night. The entire capture is accomplished in less than ten seconds and without a single raised voice to disturb the peace of the dead.

They have already gathered enough attention, no one will be able to leave until the operation is completed. The two who exited with the target will be delayed considerably longer.

x

DiNozzo and Larsen take turns searching each side of the man. Among other things, Larsen pulls from a coat pocket a Navy ID card. "Master Chief Petty Officer Dale Karmichael."

"Well Master Chief," Gibbs says, by no means surprised by this development, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Karmichael, Dale, Master Chief Petty Officer, United States Navy, Serial number 059263941."

"Save it, Master Chief, I asked you a question."

"Karmichael, Dale, Master Chief Petty Officer, United States Navy, Serial number 059263941."

"Get him out of here. Ziva, McGee, Palmer, escort our other two guests to Headquarters." He indicates the couple in the car behind Karmichael's.

"Hey, wait a minute!" the woman cries.

"We didn't do anything!"

"Perhaps not," Gibbs admits. The couple had left with him, Gibbs will not let them leave until he is certain they are not with him. That cannot be determined here. "Until we're sure, you're guests of the United States Navy. Take them."

xxx

When Gibbs' team returns to their bullpen on the second floor, Michelle finds a paper has been left on her desk. "Sir, I mean Spe–" she sees the look in his eyes. "Sir, I have the warrant for Margaret Burns' bank records."

"First thing tomorrow, bring them in and you and Kelman go over them." The young woman's talent as a lightning calculator will be useful in deciphering clues or patterns. They will help in determining who Mary Narz was while she was under cover for nearly twenty months.

"Master CPO Karmichael is assigned to Little Creek," DiNozzo reports as he sends the file he'd just opened to the plasma screen between his and McGee's desks.

"Tell me what I haven't worked out for myself."

"Okay," he ventures, riding the wake of Gibbs testiness, "have you worked out that he's in Personnel and is in a perfect position to cover our 'Nurse Burns'?"

It galls Gibbs to have to admit "Yes, but too late." They are slowing down, the past 15 hours taking their toll.

"Boss," McGee says, "I forgot to mention I got Narz's, I mean 'Burns', cell phone number from the church funeral file."

Gibbs is across the room before McGee can wish he could call back his words. "You forgot to mention?"

"I'm sorry, boss."

"Don't apologize, McGee."

"I know, a sign of weakness."

"No, tonight it just _pisses me off_. What else did you _forget _to mention?"

"Err, nothing."

x

Gibbs sees Michelle look back toward the dark window. "You got somewhere to go?"

"Yes sir. Home to my husband."

He's actually impressed she has the gumption to say it. "Then go."

She freezes, surprised. "Sir?"

"You had the courage to tell the truth. Go." He sees movement to his right. "Forget it DiNozzo."

Palmer is halfway out of her desk when she stops again and turns, feeling all eyes on her. "Sir, I can't just leave."

"Smartest thing you could've said. Sit down."

x

Then he reconsiders. Karmichael is in Holding, the bank and many other sources of information are closed for the night and his team is making mistakes. "Go on, get out of here, all of you. Be ready to work 0800." No one moves. "YES, I mean it!"

When they're gone, grabbing coats and clearing the field before he can change his mind again, Gibbs heads down to Interrogation Two.

xx

When Gibbs enters the upstairs Conference Room Melanie Kelman is deep in a heated exchange with Beatrice Gallogly. Rather, Gallogly is heated, Kelman's calm demeanor calculated to drive the woman to greater rage. In that way, she can see the truth without guile.

"I'm _telling _you I didn't do anything _wrong_!" Gallogly cries, pounding on the table. "My husband and I never even met that man before tonight! We have no idea who he is! We were there for Maggie's wake and _only _for Maggie's wake!"

Gibbs' presence finally registers through her fury, she turns on him rather than the dispassionate female agent. "Listen, I told this woman we're innocent! You've gotta believe me, _damn it_! We have to get out of here, our daughter's at home with her sitter, we were due home already and I couldn't even call her! We don't know that guy you caught, we have nothing to do with whatever the hell is going on around here!"

"I know." He'd already been inclined to believe it from the interview with the husband downstairs in the lower level Interrogation room. Beatrice's impassioned, unrestrained protests only help to convince him. Few can maintain a deception when so fired. "You and your husband are free to go. I'll have an agent drive you back to your car."

xxx

Morning comes slowly for MCPO Dale Karmichael, who has spent the night locked in the guarded Interrogation room, tense and exhausted. His interrogators through the night have formed a long chain of stoic men, each more demanding and implacable than the last.

He'll tell them nothing.

Minutes after the most recent one has left a woman enters. She's the first woman he's seen and her eyes tell him she is probably the most formidable opponent. She wears a green power tee shirt and camouflage pants. He rubs his unshaven cheek, feels the scratchiness and sees in the woman's eyes she'll be happy to do something about the roughness. He is sure that he won't like it.

"So, Master Chief, you did us a huge favor driving Margaret Burns' car to that Funeral Parlor. We had not been able to find it. Right now our teams of Forensic Scientists are taking it apart." She has no reason not to let Karmichael think he's outnumbered at every turn. "You can save a great deal of time, and pain - your own - and tell us why you killed her."

"Karmichael, Dale, Master Chief Petty Officer, United States Navy, Serial number 059263941."

"Do you not get tired of that? I have heard it already and you sound like a broken tape."

For the first time he shows a glimmer of interest, almost enough to speak, but he suppresses it as quickly.

"I had hoped you would have answered us while you were still under our jurisdiction, but our time is up. I am sorry."

"For what?" An apology is hardly standard interrogation technique.

"The woman you killed–"

"I didn't kill anyone. Prove it."

"You should have been less attentive to your driving and more so to the four eyewitnesses. As I was saying, the woman you killed was involved in the trafficking and sale of Military Secrets. You also stand implicated. Since we were unable to break you in the time allocated to us, you have been given over to other hands."

"Yeah? Whose?"

"You have been declared an Enemy Combatant under the terms of the Patriot Act. You are to be transferred to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba."

"_What_? You can't do that!"

Her smile is a predatory baring of teeth. "It is already being done."

"No, I want a lawyer."

"Perhaps you were not listening. You have been deemed an E_nemy Combatant_ under the Patriot Act. That means no Lawyer, not even a JAG Lawyer, no Judge, and no trial. It means you do not have the right to remain silent and that prejudical methods may be employed if you so attempt it. It means a one way ticket to Gitmo, southwest Cuba. There is only one direction for Enemy Combattants and that is in." She gets up and leaves, doesn't miss the look in his eyes as she closes and then locks the door.

It is the first time she has seen his confidence shaken.

xx

The laws about detainees are complex enough to confuse most people. The bluff has worked so many times in the past that it will probably be used indefinitely. However, as she reports to Gibbs and DiNozzo in Obs One, "He is afraid of more than losing his liberty in Gitmo."

"Considering Devlin, Burns/Narz and the owner of our mystery arm are all dead," DiNozzo points out, "my money's on the grave."

"Ya think?" Gibbs asks, his eyes always on Karmichael.

"Then there is no legal recourse we can threaten him with to make him talk," Ziva maintains

"I know."

"Then why did you have agents strong handing him all night?"

"Strong-arming."

They both ignore her habitual editor.

"Because I wanted him awake and thinking. Now I want him to stew for a couple of hours thinking about Gitmo. Then I'll talk to him."

xxx

When the trio enters the bullpen Michelle Palmer calls their attention. She and Melanie Kelman are seated in the small space behind her desk, each of them inspecting a thick sheaf of papers.

"What've you got?"

"Mary Narz's bank records from the twenty months she was Margaret Burns."

"As Abby might say," Kelman offers, "they're really hinky."

"In what way?" He already considers the stack to be far too extensive for a less than two year duration. His own records rarely exceed three pages a month.

"Well, for starters," Michelle holds the narrative, "she was depositing far more than her income as a Navy Nurse. In addition to her Navy salary, she made irregular deposits of fifteen to twenty thousand dollars per month, but that's only where the strangeness begins." She flips through the thick stack of printouts.

"She did a tremendous amount of on-line banking, always in odd figures down to the cents, but it was always transfers between several checking and savings accounts, round and about.

"The amount of money that _left_ the accounts, probably used for living off, was small. However, the amounts that bounced roundabout from one account to another but never went anywhere was tremendous. If her bank charged transaction fees, she'd've gone bankrupt."

"Why?"

The two women exchange glances. "He's your boss," Kelman tells her. Michelle looks up at the towering agent.

"Sir, we think we've found Agent Narz's case files."

x

That declaration is enough to capture everyone's attention. DiNozzo is the first one to reach them. He'd been assigned the task of getting to know Narz and to find those elusive files. "I'd be mad you're the ones who found them if I weren't impressed. I'll have to remember that one."

"You don't earn enough, DiNozzo."

"While we're on that subject, boss..."

But Gibbs has already gathered the sheaf of statements. "Get these up to Cryptology."

"We don't need Crypto," Kelman assures them, "I can read it now."

"You can?"

"It's grade school transposition, she wanted it to be easy for us to find it. 01 is A, 02 is B and so forth." She takes the top paper. Knowing her talent as a lightning calculator, they give her the seconds she needs to absorb the information.

"It's shorthand, left out the adverbs and so on; she was banking, not writing a book. This is from last January. 'Today transported case from Dale to Cynthia at 5 and G.'"

"How long will it take you to translate the entire record?"

A slow smile spreads across her lips. "Fifty eight point seven two nine minutes."

Gibbs hands her the sheaf. "See you in an hour."

x

He turns to see Abby approaching. "I'm glad to find you here," she says.

"Where else would we be?"

"I never know, but I was actually taking about all of you," she says, taking in Kelman as well. "I've run the fingerprints on the plastic surrounding that severed arm of yours. It seems a lot of people liked touching it, but guess who's I found?"

"Cynthia Devlin," Gibbs concludes.

This takes the wind out of her sails. "Darn, I could've saved myself an elevator trip."

"Have you got an ID on the arm?" DiNozzo asks.

Another good breeze inflates them. "_Yes_! That's the piece of ass resistance."

"Pièce de résis – oh, never mind." It's not as much fun as correcting Ziva.

"Who is she?" Gibbs regains control.

Abby makes the announcement with all the relish she can muster. "Navy R&D Captain Judith Mangini, _not _reported UA from Marine Amphibious Base Little Creek three weeks ago."


	10. Bitters

Chapter Ten  
Bitters

"Why wasn't she reported UA?" Gibbs demands forcefully. It sends DiNozzo and McGee hurrying to their desks.

It is only seconds before DiNozzo reports "Judith Mangini has been reassigned to Air Station Brunswick, Maine."

"McGee, get on the line to them. If she's listed there - and she will be, they're not going to foul that up - I want to talk to her." He hardly believes the armless Captain will be there, or that Brunswick is even expecting her. That would mean doubting Abby's discovery and it has been years since he'd done that. If she says the arm belongs to Mangini, it does.

"No go, boss," DiNozzo confirms Gibbs' unspoken conclusion. "She's on a month long furlough to her home before she starts her new assignment."

"I want to talk to someone from Brunswick that's actually expecting her to arrive." He doesn't believe his people will find any such person.

"They need time to put together the cover," Tony concludes. "Transfers aren't always checked to see if the person who left actually shows up."

"Either that," Ziva points out, "or they may be so close to accomplishing their plan that they do not need more than a month's cover story."

"Maybe, but what is the plan? Kelman, we need that case file _now_!"

Melanie doesn't waste the time answering, just takes the statements and a legal pad to a vacant desk past the partition behind Gibbs' desk.

"Three women in or near Little Creek Base dead. Mangini, 'Burns' and Effox were R&D." He checks his watch. "Where's Effox? Back in Pendleton?"

"She's at Little Creek," Michelle Palmer reports. "She has a brevet in the Officers' Quarters for the duration."

Finally some fortuitous news. "You and DiNozzo."

"Let's hit the road, Probette."

"Coming, sir."

"Ziva, look up everything on Mangini. McGee, you're with me in MTAC. I want to know what the hell is going on in LC R&D."

xx

Captain Jean-Paul Lubioux, head of Little Creek's Research and Development Division, fixes Gibbs with a deadly stare two feet wide from the huge screen. "Special Agent Gibbs, I told you when you first asked the other day that I can't tell you about Classified Research. That's the point of it being classified."

"Does Captain Judith Mangini know about it?"

Lubioux is momentarily stalled. "She does, but she's no longer part of this team. She's been reassigned." His tone shows he is not happy about this.

"When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"Almost three weeks ago, just before her orders came in. She was reassigned so quickly she was gone before we knew it, to an assignment equally classified."

"You've neither seen nor spoke to her since?"

"No, why?"

"We've got her here with us, in part anyway."

"What do you mean 'in part'?"

"We have her right arm."

x

It has been a long time since Gibbs has been able to surprise anyone so thoroughly. The man's face actually goes whiter than his uniform shirt. "What about Lieutenant Kay Effox?" He almost feels sorry for the man.

"She's also been transferred out. She's in Camp Pendleton."

"She's here too."

"_All _of her? I mean–?"

"Captain Mangini's arm was in Effox's luggage. Her daughter opened the insulated bag and found it." This time he doesn't give a moment for the man to absorb this. Also, considering the heinous nature of the incident, he's not surprised Effox never recognized the arm as belonging to a former associate. "You've had quite a few transfers lately. Why?"

When Lubioux doesn't answer in time, Gibbs is fed up. "Captain, you have three dead women connected with whatever the hell you're doing out there. Do I send a squad of Agents to drag you into Washington or do you answer my questions here?"

Lubioux's consideration is brief. "You do what you feel you have to, Gibbs." He turns off the camera on his desk.

x

"Are we going to bring him in?"

Gibbs shakes his head, "I want Lamb's team to do that. Coordinate everything. I'm going to turn up the fire under Karmichael."

When they leave MTAC, Gibbs' attention is on his interrogation of the former Personnel officer and Narz's murderer. He's surprised to open the door to find Melanie Kelman bent for the optical security scanner to read her retina pattern. She straightens, equally surprised.

"I have your answers."

These are Gibbs' favorite words. "Give them."

x

"I concentrated on the last month of the case files and I think Ziva is right, whatever is happening in Little Creek seems to be winding down. Narz didn't reveal the details, apparently still respecting the classified nature of the work – I suppose in case someone else got to her records."

"Yes?"

"I still have to learn why, but it seems Captain Mangini, Cynthia Devlin and 'Margaret Burns' were all part of the plot to steal whatever secrets R&D was working on. Master Chief Karmichael was one of the main people in the cell. The organization running the operation had Mangini killed and her body dismembered. Narz believes they felt Mangini was a security risk. If she could betray her country, she could betray the ones who engineered the betrayal."

"There's no honor among thieves."

"It so enraged Devlin that Agent Narz believes she set out to reveal what was happening. Narz states Devlin did something, we now know she put Mangini's arm where it would be found when she learned Lt. Effox was shipping out. One of Narz's last entries shows she believes Devlin was killed as a result. We know from Agent McGee that Narz, as Burns, arranged and paid for the funeral.

"Her last entry is that whatever is happening in Little Creek is winding down and the cell has already accomplished its mission. Narz planned to break for Pensacola as soon as she could and intended to deliver her report personally to her SAIC."

xx

"Yes, _Captain Judith Mangini_," Ziva squeezes the phone receiver in an effort to throttle the non-com-poop at the other end of the line. "How _many _Judith Manginis do you have on that –? No, you will _not _transfer me to Personnel–!" She slams the receiver onto her desktop.

"You break it, you bought it, Zee," McGee cautions in an effort to curb the woman's temper.

"I am being given the runabout."

"Runaround?"

"I do not need another DiNozzo! I thought you were immure to that."

He doesn't try to correct her, merely opens his favorite program upon his computer. Less than thirty seconds later he says "Judith Mangini, born in then Cocoa Beach Florida thirty-seven years ago, was educated at MIT where she majored in Advanced Cybernetics. That would've put her -" he turns, startled to see Ziva at her shoulder, her face inches from his. It's a familiar place, one that months ago he would feel right at home with - but no longer. "Zee, do you mind?"

She looks at him coolly. "Not at all." She moves away from him.

"Zee, I didn't mean–"

"No, McGee, you are correct. I did not mean to violate your space. It is more than obvious that someone else has beaten me to it."

"Zee, are we gonna have to–?"

"Ziva, I want you on this," Gibbs announces on his way down the steps from MTAC. He doesn't pause on his way to the elevator. Ziva hurries after him and just reaches the elevator in time to slip between the closing doors.

McGee looks after her, wondering what has brought on this renewed surge of chaotic emotion, and how complicated his life is going to get this time.

xx

Gibbs pauses outside the door to Interrogation One while Ziva observes their prisoner from the next room. He takes a moment to compose his features, masks the fact that they've already run out of time. If Narz's case file is correct, and he has no reason to doubt that it is, they are already too late. If so, Dale Karmichael is their only potential resource, and he must convince the man to cooperate when doing so could mean his death.

Satisfied he can face the man from a position of strength, he reaches for the doorknob.

"Agent Gibbs?"

He turns, surprised to see Cynthia Sumner at the end of the hall.

"The Director wants to see you in MTAC."

"Working." He grasps the knob.

"Agent Gibbs, the Director wants you and your team, Agent Kelman and _her _team in MTAC _right now_."

"Well," he turns on her, considering and rejecting a confrontation, "since you ask so nicely."

Sumner's attempt at a smile is a feral baring of teeth. "Believe me, Agent Gibbs, there's nothing nice about any of this."

xx

Gibbs, McGee and David rendezvous with Kelman, Kenneth Templeton and Patrick Larsen at the entrance to the communications complex, Sumner uses the Iris scanner to unlock the door. Gibbs' words to his counterpart do not carry far. "What do you know of this?"

Kelman shakes her head, barely hiding her own annoyance. "Shepherd came down, spitting mad, and ordered us to report here immediately. She also ordered me to direct Agents DiNozzo and Palmer to turn back."

x

The two Supervisors lead their teams down the ramp to where Shepherd faces the split image on the huge screen. The four field agents hang back while their bosses meet the livid woman in the well. On the huge screen's left is Chief of Naval Operations DePardu, on the right is Marine Corps Commandant Hinksen. Together they constitute half of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"Special Agents," Shepherd doesn't turn from glaring at the images, her voice hard enough to shatter diamonds, "our _bosses_ have something they want to say to us."

"Effective immediately," the Commandant says, "you will cease all investigation into the matter of Little Creek Amphibious Base. You will surrender all your records and files to the Sergeant Major of the Corps, who is already on his way to your offices."

"Why?"

Shepherd feels a surge of secret satisfaction. Gibbs is the only Marine she knows who would say anything other than 'yes, sir' to his ultimate (former) C.O. Sadly, she already knows the foregone result.

"You don't need an answer to that, Agent Gibbs. It is a matter of National Security. The matter is closed."

"That's _BULL_!" Gibbs' anger could fry the board's circuits. "This is the second time someone - last time it was the Army - came down and stopped a multiple homicide investigation in the name of 'National Security'. What the HELL is going on in the Hill?"

"Again, that is _not_ your concern."

"One of the people killed was an undercover NCIS agent! She has the right to have her mission completed. What the hell do we tell her family, that she's dead because of a _secret_?"

"Your Agent Narz is recorded as having been fired last year from NCIS for stealing military secrets. I'm sorry, but that cover story - and her treason - will have to stand."

Gibbs nearly charges the screen. This is worse than the Pinpin Pula betrayal. "_Damn_ you, it's bad enough you pull this again but I'll be _damned_ if you're going to drag an innocent woman down with you!"

Admiral DePardu nods. "Then you'll be damned. Director Shepherd, strip Agent Gibbs of his shield and weapon and place him under arrest."

x

"Chief, with all due respect, you can go to hell. NCIS is an autonomous Investigative body which does not answer to the Navy or to the Corps; _they _answer to us. And I shall take this all the way to the White House if I need to. You _may_ be able to halt an Investigation though I'll fight you on that as well, but my Agents' liberties are at my direction. Even the full Joint Chiefs are secondary to the President and the Congress. You want secrets kept, don't force me to go to the Hill."

"Understand this," Hinksen counters, "this matter is now in the hands of the NSA. You are removed from all jurisdiction in this matter and all evidence - and your prisoner - are to be handed over to the Sergeant Major and his staff immediately upon their arrival. Failure to comply, or any attempt on your part to withhold any information–"

"You don't need to quote regulations or make threats, Commandant. You want to turn this investigation over to the National Security Agency, I can't stop you. Now, what about Agent Narz and her family?"

x

Neither answers for a moment, but having won they seem to feel they can be magnanimous. "You may clear her reputation, provided the secrecy of the operation remains intact."

Jennifer feels as though she has a mouthful of rancid vinegar. "Thank you."

At her signal to the technicians on their left, the screens go black. Shepherd turns to her teams, her eyes say what words will not. She walks past Gibbs and Kelman, the others open a path for her. No one is stupid enough to say a word until she's gone.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

The Memorial Service for Special Agent Mary Narz is held a week before Christmas under an overcast sky and in a flurry of snow. Her body has been sent several days ago to Florida, to the city she called home, to the family who grieves even more than the people assembled here and who have far fewer answers to console them. Noon this day brings no sunlight to cast shadows in the grove behind NCIS Headquarters. Snow settles upon the grass, the whiteness lightening no spirits. A new tree stands in the grove, hundreds of agents and servicemen and women stand in as deep silence.

Chaplain O'Mallory, standing beside the tree, finishes the final prayer and hands the red leather bound book to an assistant. The men and women, uniformed and not, are gathered without regard to rank or service. Gradually, singly, in pairs or groups, the crowd diminishes until only Shepherd, Sumner, O'Mallory and fourteen agents remain; Gibbs and his team, Kelman and hers, Lamb and his, Ducky, Jimmy and Abby.

"It is never easy to lose someone," Ducky sums up their feelings, "though this is a fitting memorial." He looks at the new tree with its small gold plate attached; his eyes then take in the others that surround them. There are too many trees, too many plates. In the past few months the number has grown far too quickly. He prays they can end the year without any more.

Jimmy and Michelle, hand in hand, start back to the headquarters, Kenneth Lamb and his team depart a few moments later. O'Mallory and McGee, sensing no one has any desire to say more, start across the grove toward the parking lot.

Not a word is spoken as the last of them depart, return to work, leave only the trees.

xxx

"Special Agent Kelman is here, Director," the voice announces through the intercom on the desk.

"Send her in, Cynthia."

When Melanie Kelman enters the office, she concludes from her boss' body language that her suspicions are confirmed. However, she says nothing about this, preferring to listen.

"Please sit down." When Kelman does so, still saying nothing, Shepherd says, "I'm not satisfied with the Joint Chiefs clearing Mary Narz, and I know no one else is. We still can't tell her family _why_ she died and that offends me."

"Me too."

There's little emotion shared in that voice, and Shepherd's sure it's because there's too much to share. She's working to keep her own voice dispassionate.

"While I look for a Special Agent-in-Charge in Pensacola, I want answers. This is the second time a case was yanked away from us in the name of National Security. I don't know where, if anywhere, the Army took that other case. I _do_ know I don't want this one to quietly disappear."

"I understand."

"In addition to your regular duties, your assignment is to find out what's going on. Your advantage is you don't need notes or records, not even in fancy banking. You're to get answers without involving even your own team. I don't care how long it takes and I don't care how you do it, but get it done."

"I understand. Are we talking IMF parameters?" The famed 'Impossible Mission Force' knew that if they 'were caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions'.

"Absolutely not. I won't leave you out on your own. That's one of the reasons Thomas Mertz is no longer SAIC.

"I gave us away when I confronted the SECNAV, someone I thought could be trusted. Gibbs did the same when he confronted Captain Lubioux. Lubioux contacted the SECNAV and he kept his own hands clean by going to the Chief and Commandant. Don't trust anyone, not even a fellow agent." She pauses, unable to believe she's just said this, but after the horrors of this past year... Maybe it's time to get away from this desk and move to Mexico. Maaybe Gibbs will build a third hut.

"Whatever's going on, we already have indications that it's ready to come to a head. We have no idea how much time we have, we might even be too late. But in finding your answers, I want you to be very careful. We may officially have nothing to do with this, but I have no trust in whoever does have control."

"I understand."

"Now, the most important part: You know the threat issued when the PDC-9 case was taken away, that the Pentagon will 'regret' our agent's deaths. I believe them. I won't order you to take this assignment - I'm asking you if you're willing to take it."

Melanie stands up, her mind on their late colleague who the Joint Chiefs would allow to be discredited and her family shamed after her sacrifice. "You'll have my full report as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

Author's Note: Though published over a year ago, the events in "Have Yourself A Merry" take place after this story, and are inserted into the timeline here just before Christmas.

Next Episode: "Hatred". A shocking incident after a New Year's Party sends an NCIS Agent over the line on a vengeful quest. Gibbs and his team must solve the mystery before revenge turns to murder.


End file.
